


The Problem with Summer

by Cena316AA



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Angst, Camp AU, Daddy Tony Stark, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Gen, Kid Peter Parker, Kid Wade Wilson, PreTeen Peter Parker, Summer Camp, Teen Peter Parker, Teen Wade Wilson, Trying out something new let's see how it goes, daddy Steve Rogers, for now, imma keep adding tags as I get further along in the story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-11-13 11:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11183742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cena316AA/pseuds/Cena316AA
Summary: He tried being a hero once. Just once! And, it got him in trouble. Now, Peter has to spend his summer at a stupid camp filled with insects and the inevitable summer heat. He hates it here. Well, at least he would if it weren't for Wade. Yes, Wade. There's just something about him he truly enjoys. He's always so optimistic and cheery. Always . . . Right?





	1. Misunderstanding

**Author's Note:**

> It's my one year anniversary on AO3 so I wanted to do something special and different. I'm on summer break rn so I'm hoping to update this frequently. Let's see how this goes.

_Tap tap tap_

 

The pencil’s chewed-up eraser thudded against the notebook’s blank page as he drummed it absentmindedly, his wrist mechanically flicking back and forth, causing the soft tapping to echo throughout the home library. 

His brown eyes continued to blankly stare at the open textbook before him. He’d been staring at the problem for so long that the numbers had began to blur. He was beginning to feel nauseous. His tapping became more furious. 

Sweat began to appear on the hairline of his chestnut brown hair and drip down his crimson cheeks. Even with the cooler on, the nearly-summer heat was able to penetrate the four walls and many shelves filled with large, dusty books. He blinked. The number returned.

“Ugh! I can’t take this anymore.” Peter slammed his hands on the table and rose from his chair. It made a short, screaking sound as its four legs scraped on the wooden floor. “School’s almost over and we’re still getting homework. This is bullsh--”

“Peter!” a voice from the hallway left his sentence unfinished.

“Coming!” He jogged across the library and peeked out the door. The hallway was empty. “Why do you call me if you’re just going to leave?” he grumbled as he trudged down the hall. He knew where’d he be, though. Even in this huge house with room after room after room after room after room . . . he knew where’d he be. He pushed open the large, mahogany doors that lead to his study and stepped through. 

“Yeah, Dad?”

The pondering man was standing in front of the desk on the other side of the room observing a painting on the wall before him, but at the sound of his son’s voice he quickly turned around.

“Ah, Peter. Perfect.” With that greeting, he turned back to the portrait.

Unlike Peter’s messy mane, his black hair was properly brushed. Even his dark beard appeared recently trimmed. His wrinkle-free dark suit and red tie contrasted Peter’s ruffled blue jeans and white tee. 

Peter crossed his arms impatiently. “What?”

Luckily, Tony was more focused on the painting to notice Peter’s oddly rude tone. “I have quite the conundrum. You see,” he pointed to it, “this portrait of my gorgeous self goes well with the structure and design of my study, but,” here he reached behind his desk and brought out another framed painting, “I just had this new one done, and I would have loved to frame it up here as well.” He turned to Peter, “What do you think?”

In disbelief, but also unsurprised, he looked at the two pictures. The one hanging on the wall was one that Peter had seen many times for far too many years. It featured his dad looking up and to the right, as if in a thought-provoking mindset, against a dark red background. The other painting, the one Tony was holding with both hands, had him looking straight ahead, as if staring into your very soul (this made Peter shudder), and featured a more bluish background. Both portraits were of no importance to the child, so he tried to get out of having to deal with his dad’s “not really a problem” problem. “Why don’t you ask Pops?”

“I did. He said he had better things to do with his time.”

“Yeah, so do I,” Peter muttered.

“What was that?”

Quickly, Peter said, “Why don’t you just hang it in your room or something?”

“Yeah, um,” he looked down, “Steve didn’t let me.”

_Of course_ , Peter thought. “I don’t know. Put it in your lab, then.”

“No. Sometimes things happen down there that would put this beauty at risk. I can’t have that happening.”

“The library?”

“Too isolated.”

“Dining room?”

“Too crowded.”

“Gym?”

“Too out of place.”

“Living room?”

“It’ll blend in too much.”

“Honestly, Dad, there are so many rooms. Just pick a random one and put your selfie there.”

Tony stared at him, unblinking.

For a moment, Peter thought his dad was going to yell at him for snapping at the elder, but then

He clapped his hands together. “You’re a genius! I mean, of course you are, you’re my son, but still.” Peter waited for him to continue. “I’ll just place this in a room and center the whole design around my portrait. I could make a sitting room. Or a mini library. A waiting room? No, that’s stupid.”

The ramblings continued until Peter stopped him mid-word. “Can I go now? I still need to finish my math.”

“Having trouble with seventh-grade math?” Tony teased.

“Technically, it’s high school math. Remember? I’m in advanced classes. Been that way since pre-school.”

“Of course.” Tony ruffled Peter’s brown locks. “So, what does my little genius need help with?”

Peter shoved his dad’s hand away. “Stop that. I’m almost thirteen.”

“So?”

He let out an exasperated sigh. “Nevermind. Let’s go. I was in the library.” He lead the way out of this room and into another. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -

“It was so obvious. I can’t believe I couldn’t figure it out.” 

The sun shone on his naked torso. Peter was splashing in the pool after finally finishing the five pages he had to get done before his math class tomorrow morning. Donning his red and black trunks, he had jumped into the cool water as an attempt to relax while simultaneously fight off the heat.

“Well, sometimes the obvious isn’t obvious until it’s pointed out.” Steve was sitting on one of the two lawn chairs near the pool. He was dressed in blue shorts and a white tank. His dark sunglasses shielded his blue eyes from the treacherous sun. 

“Thanks, Shakespeare,” Peter retorted.

Steve sat up. “Actually, that sounded more like Walt Whitman,” he said with a smile.

Peter laughed before submerging himself in the coolness of the pool. He opened his eyes. Underwater, his senses were distorted. He glanced around with his kaleidoscopic view. The water seemed so blue at this depth. He let his body relax under the fresh pressure until a new sense ignited. 

Somebody was calling him. 

He swam upwards until he broke free of the water’s grasp. He coughed out a bit of water that had managed to invade his body and waited for his vision to adjust. 

“Oh, hey, Harry. What’s up?” Peter said as he grabbed the edge of the pool and hoisted himself up.

“You in the mood for ice cream? I texted you a few times but you never replied to any of my messages. I can see why.”

Peter rose to his full height and stood in front of the neatly dressed boy. He was taller than Peter and his hair a shade lighter. For a twelve-year-old, his voice already held the ruggedness of an Osborn man, and his body accentuated that. He appeared much older and mature than Peter that it warranted many second glances from the middle schoolers and “big brother/little brother” comments from older ladies (such as “oh, it’s so nice that you take your younger brother along with you”) which usually resulted in Peter’s face turning bright red and Harry stammering an explanation that Peter was actually a couple of months older than him.

“Sorry about that,” Peter started, “but, um, yeah. Let me just get out of these wet clothes.”

“And ask my parents for permission.”

Peter turned to Steve, who had been intently listening in on their conversation.

“Oh, sorry, Sir. Would it be okay if I took Peter out for some ice cream?”

“Thank you, Harry, but I’d prefer to hear it straight from my son’s mouth.”

A loud groan preceded his question. “Pops, can I _puhlease_ go with my _bestie_ , Harry, out for some of that delicious, frozen-milk dessert?”

Steve chuckled. “Sure. Next time, try to sound less sarcastic. You sound just like your dad.”

“You’re the one that married him. I, on the other hand, had no choice in the matter.”

Steve got out of his chair. “Not another word or I’ll end up changing my mind.”

“Yeah. Okay. Sorry.” He turned to Harry. “Meet me in the living room. I’ll be there soon.” With that, he rushed inside, his feet slopping on the tiled floor of the small locker room. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Peter sucked at the chocolate drips escaping down the cone. Even the coolness of ice cream couldn’t save him from the summer heat. He gulped down the remaining bits of wafer and licked his sticky fingers. 

“I can’t take this anymore, dude,” the sweat-covered boy groaned. “I think this summer is gonna kill me.”

“Don’t be such a drama queen.” Harry had managed to down his ice cream without a single drop blemishing his skin.

“I’m serious, Harry. I think Imma become a shut-in. A hermit. I’m never leaving the comfort of my AC. Well, at least until summer ends.”

The two boys chuckled as they continued down the sidewalk. The roads were nearly empty with the occasional car zooming by. The sun was beginning to set, and the heat had subsided enough for the boys to continue on their stroll away from their parents’ gazes. 

“Did you finish your homework?”

With a small _plop_ , Peter took his no-longer sticky finger out of his mouth. “Yeah. Took me a while, but I got my math done.”

“Can’t believe we’re still getting homework in the last week of school.”

Peter turned to him. “That’s what I said! It’s so stu--”

“Speaking of school . . .” Harry stopped abruptly. He reached out to the metallic, chain link fence before him. It rattled under his touch. “Looks pretty lonely.”

Peter looked past the gate and into the deserted building. The lights inside were on, but there was no sign of life. No movements. No sounds. It looked kinda creepy. 

“Pay you 20 bucks to go inside,” Peter said.

“Haha, no way. What if there’s a ghost in there? Or worse . . . an actual teacher?!” Harry wore an expression of mock fear.

“Dun dun dunnn!” Peter said overdramatically.

Their laughter was interrupted by barking followed by a child’s voice. 

“COSMO!”

The fence began to rattle furiously, and the two boys ran toward the cries. 

Harry reached the young girl first and kneeled beside her, soothing her. “What’s wrong?”

She wiped at her green eyes with her little, balled-up fists. Through tears, she managed to say “M-my d-d-dog. He--he went past the gate.” She motioned to the school. “I can’t get him!” She erupted in tears once again, and Harry held her close to his chest. 

Peter, still a few steps away, examined the fence. There was a hole under it near Harry’s right knee. “The dog must have gotten in through there,” he muttered. He looked to the school but couldn’t see any sign of the pet. He closed his eyes. There was the sound of a faraway car, the girl’s sobs, Harry’s soothing voice, and--

His body moved of its own volition. He pushed his body up the fence scaling it with tremendous agility. 

“Peter!” Harry called up to him. “What are you doing?! It’s after school hours. You could get in trouble for breaking onto school grounds!” 

“The dog!” Peter called back down. “He’s behind the school; I can hear it. I’ll be back. Keep a lookout!” He was already on the other side of the barrier and, after judging the distance to the ground, let his body drop. 

His landing was messy, and he hit his shoulder against the hard ground, but he got up quickly, rushing toward the back of the school. 

He looked around. It was quiet now, but he was sure that the barking had been coming from here. 

“Here, doggy. Umm . . . Cosmo? Here, Cosmo, Cosmo!” Keeping his body low to the ground, he traversed the grassy area. A low whimpering stopped him midstep. “Cosmo?” It continued. Peter stealthily made his way toward it. It grew louder as he approached the huge tree where pre-pubescent lovebirds would etch their initials into its trunk and vow to always be together only to break-up a few weeks later. He parted the bushes. _Just like Moses_ , he thought and laughed out loud at his own joke.

“Cosmo?” 

One of the bushes rustled. Peter kneeled closer to it using the tree as leverage, his hand covering the JJ to somebody’s LC. 

“Cosmo?”

Using his free hand, he pushed in past the scratchy leaves. He felt something wet spread across his bare hand and quickly brought it back into sight.

“Uck! Cosmo, what the heck, dude?!” Peter said as he flicked the slobber away.

Now that his view wasn’t obstructed, he could see the situation. Cosmo, a small dog covered in light brown fur with floppy ears, had gotten himself stuck within the confines of the bush. A root had gotten ahold of his hind leg and, as much as the puppy pushed, it couldn’t break itself free. 

“Oh, okay. I see. Let me just . . .”

He just had to dig the root out enough for the dog’s paw to slide out. Peter dived in and carefully wrestled the paw free from the root. 

As soon as he was free, Cosmo jumped up at Peter tackling him to the ground. He licked his hero’s face as if thanking him for the rescue. 

“Stop. Stop. Down boy!” Peter grabbed the dog and kept him away from his drenched face. “You’re too playful for your own good, you know that, right?”

A noise from above captured both boys’ attention. Cosmo began to bark again. Peter squinted, trying to get a better look, but a movement through the branches provided him with an answer he had yet to ask. 

“A squirrel?” He turned to the dog in his arms. “You got stuck for chasing a squirrel, didn’t you?” Cosmo looked down as if ashamed of the truth behind Peter’s words. “How cliché,” Peter said with a nod. He tucked the dog under his shoulder and proceeded to carry him back to his worried friend. 

Harry stood looking out the street. He was worried a cop would stop and ask them what they were doing in front of the school. It’d be pretty hard to explain with a weeping child frequently stuttering her dog’s name. 

“Don’t worry,” Harry patted her shoulder, “you can trust, Peter. He’ll find your dog.” 

It was almost as if his words had summoned him, for when he said that the little girl began to bounce in place and shrieks of joy replaced her sobs. “Cosmo! Cosmo!”

“Hey!” Peter waved at them. “Found your dog.” 

Harry helped Peter lead the dog through the small opening careful not to injure the joyful puppy, and, soon, the duo was reunited. Cosmo ran into the girl’s arms as if they hadn’t seen each other for years. 

“Thank you!,” the little girl said to both Harry and Peter as she held tightly to her friend.

“No problem,” Peter said back.

“You should get home now,” Harry said. “It’s getting dark.” It was. The sun had already set, and the first stars were beginning to arrive.

With one final “okay,” the little girl skipped way, Cosmo jogging by her side. 

“Well, this was fun.” Peter, still on the other side of the fence, wiped at his forehead. 

A monotonous tone interrupted Harry’s reply. He reached into his pocket and took out his cellphone. “Hello,” he said into the speaking end. “Oh, hey, Father . . . No, I was just . . . Yeah, I know it’s . . . Yes . . . Okay . . . Yeah, fine . . . I’m going!” He stuffed his phone back into his pocket.

“Trouble?” Peter said with a forced smile.

“Yeah, you know how my dad is. I gotta go. Come on. Jump over already.” 

“You go on. Don’t want to keep you waiting any longer.”

“You sure?”

“Just go,” Peter said already beginning his ascent. “I’ll catch up.” Harry was already across the street, jogging down the block. “Damn, he’s fast.” 

He had reached the top of the fence and was scaling down when a bright light shone on his face. He had shielded his eyes reflexively, and the sudden stimulation caused him to lose his hold on the fence. He didn’t realize he was falling until his back hit the sidewalk with a thud. 

“Ow . . .” he moaned as he tried to move to his side. He felt a strong grip on his shirt and then his body was being lifted from the ground and thrown against the metallic fence.

“What were you doing on school grounds, son?” a gruffy voice asked. 

Still disoriented, Peter didn’t answer. 

“Answer me, boy!” the same voice said. 

“Wha--OW!” He felt the metal chains dig into his cheek as he was pushed harder against it. He felt his arms being twisted back. “I was just getting something from the other side.”

“Trespassing is an illegal offense. If you needed retrieval you should’ve called us.”

“Us?” Peter managed to lift his head just an inch from the fence, but it was enough to see the badge on the man’s chest. _Oh, no_ , he thought. _My parents are going to kill me!_ “Am I under arrest?” he asked, but the clanking sound and cold sensation around his wrist answered his question.

Peter began to panic. “Wait! Wait. This a big misunderstanding. I was just helping out the little gir--OW!” The fence dug into his gut. "She lost her dog. Cosmo! Please just--"

The officer began to dictate the words Peter had heard many times while watching crime shows with his parents. “You have the right to remain silent . . .” the cop continued as he finished securing the handcuffs around Peter’s wrists.


	2. Crime Doesn't Fit the Punishment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of last night, Peter now has to face the consequences. But, what punishment do his parents have in store for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aiming to update this at least once a week. Enjoy!

Rustling papers and clanking pencils signaled the day was over, and students began bustling out of the edifice. Peter stuffed his books in his leather backpack and trudged out the room. Swerving left and right to avoid the traffic of oncoming students, he managed to make it to the fence that had left him with a small cut on his chin just sixteen hours ago. 

“Yo, Peter! Wait up.”

Not stopping in his tracks, he turned to see Harry, who bumped into an unlucky girl as he neared the gate, running toward him. Peter watched him apologize profusely to the sixth grader and continue his course toward him. 

The gate rattled with the weight of Harry’s body. “Yo, Pete, what’s up?” he said breathlessly.

“What do you mean?” Peter continued walking past the gate not hesitating for a single second. He did not want to get home even a minute after his allotted time. Pops would give him Hell.

Harry jogged behind him. “I didn’t see you at all during lunch. And, during class, you wouldn’t even look my way. Even MJ noticed you've been acting differently. Are you mad? I said I was sorry, and I do feel bad about this whole thing. Tell me what to do.”

“Nothing. It’s fine. Honestly! It’s just--” Peter had been avoiding eye contact with him, but now he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and faced him. “I got in huge trouble, and my parents went into ultra-strict mode. It’s just school and home and nothing in between, so I don’t want to be held up. Plus, they took away all my tech.” He turned away from his friend and continued the journey back home where his parents were sure to be watching the clock, awaiting his return.

Harry matched his pace. “How are you going to do your homework?”

“Encyclopedia.”

“Is that like . . . wikipedia?” 

“Yeah. Only older, more boring, and without all the cool stuff.”

“Well, that sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“I still feel bad.”

“Don’t. I was the one that went over the fence. This is all on me.”

“But you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Not according to the cop. And, technically, I did break into the school. Even if it was for a good reason.”

They arrived at an intersection. “Alright, then, Pete. I’m going to meet up with some of the guys. I’ll, um, see you tomorrow?” The illuminated silhouette signaled that it was okay to cross.

“Yep. Have fun.”

“Bye, Pete,” Harry said as he made his way to the other side. 

“Laters.”

Peter continued down the block. There were less buildings now, and the scampering of citizens was beginning to dwindle in this area. 

He was almost home.

Turning a corner and continuing down the now empty roads, he took a deep breath and prepared to cross the path leading to the doorway (more mentally than physically). He hadn’t been able to look his parents in the eyes ever since the cop brought him to the house.

 

After he had been handcuffed, he had been lead to the backseat of the car, like a criminal. He had been asked his name, age, and address. Peter had cooperated. He didn’t want to be in more trouble than he (probably) already was in. Plus, if he’d been asked his address that meant he wasn’t going to be put in jail. 

As the police car drove silently up the road that lead to the manor, Peter’s hand began to sweat. When it passed the gate, his body felt hot and itchy. And, when the cop turned the key and stalled the engine next to one of his dad’s car (a red Mustang convertible), his stomach felt as if it were riding on a nonstop rollercoaster instead of waiting in a stationary car. 

He saw the police officer get out of the car and walk over to his door. Officer Peterson (from the window, Peter had managed to read the badge on the blue shirt) opened it and grabbed Peter by the shoulder, leading him to the doorway. He felt that he was being lead to a haunted house rather than one he had lived in since the day he was brought from the hospital with his two loving fathers.

Peter half-expected his parents to fling open the door, but the cop reached a finger out and dinged the doorbell. 

The thirty seconds it took for his dad to open the door felt like an eternity.

“What’s this?” Tony said as he took in the sight of his son in handcuffs being gripped by a police officer.

“Your son was caught trespassing on school grounds. Since he doesn’t seem to have stolen anything nor damaged the property, I’ve decided to let him off with a warning.” With this, the cop reached into his pocket and took out a key. 

“I see,” Tony said. “Steve!” he called without looking away from Peter.

Peter heard the shuffling of feet as the cop explained the situation to Tony, and soon both his parents were standing by the doorway watching a cop remove handcuffs from his sore wrists. Peter rubbed the throbbing skin. It felt good to finally have them back under his control.

Steve turned to Tony. “What’s going on? Why is there a cop? Why was Peter handcuffed? What did he do?” He shifted his gaze to Peter. “What did you do? Are you hurt? Did somebody hurt you? Who made you do this?”

“Pops, I’m fine! It was just a misunderstanding. I didn’t do anyth--”

“He broke into the school,” Tony said as if Peter had not spoken. “Officer Peterson caught him as he was making his way out. Brought him here. Letting him off with a warning.”

Steve looked at Tony as if he had spoken in another language and struggled to process what his husband was telling him. “What?”

“That’s not--” Peter was interrupted again.

“Well, I’ll leave the rest to you, gentlemen,” the cop said. 

“Thank you, officer,” Tony said.

The man nodded and made his way to the police car. 

Nobody moved until the vehicle had made its way down the driveway. When its lights had faded and the engine no longer pierced the quiet night, Tony had made his way back inside the manor. Steve placed his firm hand on Peter’s shoulder and ushered him in. 

 

The rest of the night had transpired pretty much how he expected. Realizing they were not going to let him get a word in, he had succumbed and opted to wait for their frustration to subside. Pops had interrogated him. Dad had been lost in his own mind as if trying to come up with the ultimate punishment. Then, they both confiscated his gadgets and announced his new rigid schedule. He had trudged up the stairs with heavy steps, ripped open the door to his living quarters, thrown his shoes across the room, let his body drop face down on his bed, and fallen asleep with his clothes on. 

 

Now, standing in front of the huge double-door, he rubbed the red on his wrists. He felt as if last night’s events were about to repeat. Instead, what transpired filled him with suspicion. 

He had walked through the door expecting to go up to his room and do his homework, but, as his right foot touched the bottom step, Steve called out to him. 

“Yeah, Pops?”

“Come into the dining room. Your dad and I want to talk to you.”

“Uh, okay. Coming.”

Reluctantly, he walked down the hall to the dining room expanding the time it took to get there. His shuffling feet proved to be too slow, though.

“Peter! We don’t have all day.” Tony’s impatience was not lost on Peter.

“Fine, fine. I’m here,” the nervous boy said as soon as he walked in through the archway. He had been looking down trying to avoid his parents’ gaze, but the sudden “Peter” jerked his head up. 

Steve was sitting on the sturdy, mahogany chair nearest to him, so Peter took the seat beside him. The dining table was large and rarely used by the trio when they were alone. It was usually reserved for one of Tony Stark’s extravagant dinner parties. Steve rarely ate dinner at home with them, and Tony wouldn’t eat if it weren’t for their butler constantly taking his meals down to him. With Pop’s constant summons to whatever it was he did for work and Dad’s life being in the lab, Peter had opted to eating his feasts in the comfort of his room. He had even cleared some space on his computer desk for the sole purpose of placing his dishes and silverware. So, having the three of them in this room on a non-eventful day felt eerie, and Peter voiced this uncomfortableness the only way he knew how.

“What’s the special occasion? Did Dad blow something up again? Hehe.”

Tony, who was not sitting but standing behind Steve, gripping the back of his chair, glared at him. “Actually, this is about you and--” he sighed, “and, your Pops has something to tell you.”

“Tony, we agreed to do this together.”

“It’s just,” they began to whisper with one another, and Peter had to strain to hear them, “I don’t feel one hundred percent on this.”

“You think I do? But, we have to do this.”

“Technically, we don’t _have_ to--”

“Tony, this was your idea.”

“Well, my ideas aren’t always so great. Remember that one time I nearly blew up the house?”

“Um.” Peter didn’t want to interrupt but hearing his parents mumble with one another was punishment enough. “If this is about me . . . well, don’t you think it’d make more sense if . . . I, um, well, if I knew what this was about?”

The two men looked at one another. For a while nobody said anything. Then, Steve positioned his body on the chair so he was facing Peter. Peter did the same, their knees almost touching. 

“You see, son, we feel that we were fairly unjust to you last night. We didn’t hear you out, and that was a huge fault in our part.”

“Yeah, so,” Tony added, “if you could tell us your version of the story that’d be great.”

“Oh, um, okay, well . . .” Now that Peter had the opportunity to clear his name, he was stumbling over his words. “I was--I didn’t--”

“Start at the beginning,” Tony suggested.

“Um, okay.” Peter took a deep breath before beginning his story. “I was walking with Harry when we heard a little girl crying. Harry went up to her and she said that her dog had like gone through the fence. Oh, we were outside the school by the way. Anyways, um, yeah, so she was crying, and I, well, after I heard her say that I closed my eyes and heard the dog barking from like the back part of the school. I don’t know why. I wasn’t even thinking! I think my body just moved by itself, because next thing I know I was climbing the face. I jumped down, ran behind the school, and found the little puppy stuck in a bush. His paw had like gotten stuck in a root or something while chasing a squirrel. So, I helped him out and carried him back to the little girl. Then, Harry’s phone rang--or vibrated, whatever. It was Mr. Osborn. I told him to go home before he got grounded. The little girl had already left. So, I started climbing up the fence and then a freaking light shone in my eyes and I lost hold of the fence and just fell and that cop picked me up and pushed me against the fence. Look! I have the scar to prove it,” he pointed to his chin, “And I was scared. And worried. And, I thought I was gonna go to jail! I didn’t want to go to jail! But, then he asked me for my info, and I gave it to him, and he brought me here. And . . .” he took small breaths in order to calm his racing heart. “And, I just needed to help her. If--If I had to redo that day all over again,” he gripped his hands tightly, the memory of the tears that had flown from the girl's green eyes filling his mind, “I’d do the same thing.” 

For the first time that day, Peter looked both his fathers directly in the eyes. He was panting. The story had burst out of his mouth so fast he wasn’t even sure if they had understood a word he said, and the silence only made things worse.

Steve looked over to Tony, and Tony returned the gaze. To Peter it seemed as if they were communicating telepathically. It was unnerving. 

“Um . . .” He began to interrupt when he himself was interrupted.

“Peter, son,” Steve began, “we believe you.”

He blinked rapidly as if trying to clear his mind. “Huh? Really? You do?”

“Yes, but--”

“But, we have a suggestion.” Tony brought out a rectangular paper. It took Peter a moment to realize it was a pamphlet. “Glance over this, would you?”

“Um, okay.” Peter took the pamphlet from Tony’s hand. He read the title and already opposed it. The anger riled up inside him. “Summer Camp?! What the heck, Dad?!” 

“Language, Peter,” Steve interjected.

“Oh, I’m sorry, _Pops_! I meant, ‘why are you trying to send me away when I was just trying to help out a little girl get her puppy back’? I did nothing wrong! And, you know it.” 

Steve winced. “Listen, we feel that it’d be for the best if--”

“The _best_?! How is this _the best_?”

“Peter!” 

Peter stopped. Pop's booming voice always made him stop. He looked away from them and rose from his chair. “I have homework to do.” He began walking out the room but stopped at the archway. Without sparing a glance back he uttered, “I thought you believed me,” and disappeared out the room. 

Steve and Tony listened quietly to Peter’s steps echoing upstairs. They heard the slam of a door. Then all was quiet.

“Well,” Tony broke the silence, “that went well.”

WIth a sigh, Steve stood up. “I knew something like that was going to happen. I just didn’t expect him to be so . . . direct.”

“Yeah, well, we can call the whole thing off. It’s not like he did anything bad. Just wrong place, wrong time.”

“That’s what I’m worried about.”

Tony looked over at his husband. Although the man was much taller than him, he appeared small right now. Exhausted. He put his hand on Steve’s shoulder and gently rubbed it. “I can convince him, if you want.”

Offering his partner a small smile, Steve said, “He’ll hate you forever, you know.”

“Forever in teenage years is like three days. A week at most.”

Steve chuckled. “I would feel better knowing he’ll be out of trouble. He’s such a righteous boy. I’m worried it’ll get him k--” He choked back the word.

“Yeah,” Tony offered. “But, then again, look who his parents are. I got into a fight with some anti-climate change a-holes the other day, for gods’ sakes! And you, well you are a whole story yourself.” He gave him a peck on the cheek before proceeding to his lab. “I’ll talk to Peter after dinner.”

“Thanks, Tony. I truly appreciate it.” 

With a small wave of his hand, Tony, too, disappeared out the room leaving the worried man alone with his vexing thoughts.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The sun’s last rays shining down on them, the birds began to make their way to their cozy nests. Crickets began to play their nightly melodies. And, the nocturnal life stirred with the refreshing breeze. 

The clanking and clinking of silverware filled the yard. His dad had insisted on having an outside dinner, and Steve had obliged by cooking them a nice barbecue. Peter had begrudgingly joined them. He still felt awful about snapping at his parents, but he had felt betrayed by them. Even after hearing him out they had the audacity of sending him away to some summer camp that was probably filled with troublesome kids whose parents can’t stand having around the house for three months. Is that how his parents felt about him?

He had gotten into trouble a few times before. Mostly in school. But, that was never his intention! He was just trying to help. Two months ago, he had stopped a bully from beating on another kid. Although he took kickboxing classes, Peter wasn’t much of a fighter. What he learned was mostly for self defense, and he intended to use it if such a moment arose. However, the bully’s punch had an unexpected amount of force behind it, so that opportunity of self-defense didn’t come that day. He had arrived home with an ice pack nursing a swollen eye. His parents weren’t that happy, but they were pretty proud of him and had rewarded him with a nice dinner out. Peter had expected the same reaction this time around, but he guessed saving a puppy didn’t warrant being brought home in handcuffs.

Caught up in his own thoughts, Peter missed the whole conversation his parents had engaged in and was brought back by Steve calling his name various times.

“Huh?” Peter’s eyes widened as if he had been awoken from a deep dream.

“You okay, son?” Steve asked

“Hm, yeah. I was just . . . thinking.” He looked down at his half-eaten food. Somehow, he wasn’t hungry anymore. “Excuse me. I’m gonna head to my room now,” he said standing up.

“But, you’ve hardly eaten anything,” Steve protested.

“I’m not hungry. And, I have homework to do.” With that, he hurried inside and took the stairs two at a time to relax in the comfort of his room. He hadn’t necessarily lied to his parents. He did have homework to do, but it was a reading assignment that the teacher wouldn’t bother discussing on the last day of school. So, he let his mind drift away.

 

He must’ve fallen asleep for a loud banging startled him. Somebody was knocking on his door. 

“Come in.”

Tony slowly opened the door and stepped through. “Hey, kiddo. Done with your homework?”

“Yep,” Peter replied looking away from him.

“You know, you’re worrying your pops.”

“Yeah, well, maybe he shouldn’t have tried to send me away.”

“Ah, come on. That’s not fair. First of all, it was my idea. I made the suggestion to him.”

“And, he agreed,” Peter interrupted.

“ _And_ , he heard me out and thought it made sense. He thought it was the right thing to do. Secondly, he’s just trying to protect you.” 

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yes, it’s just that . . .” Now, Peter brought himself to look at his dad. He was wearing a stained tee and even dirtier jeans. _He must’ve been down in the lab_ , Peter thought. “You’re trying to send me away as a punishment I don’t deserve. I was just trying to help.”

“Exactly. You were just _trying to help_. Hear me out, Peter. You’re growing up. You’re no longer a child, per se. You can get in trouble now. Huge trouble. And, well, there are consequences for you now. It’s just that you--well, you . . . How should I put this? Trouble seems . . . to find you. And, you don’t shy away from it. Which is good! I love your sense for justice. Your strong sense of duty. But, it also worries m--Steve. Your pops is extremely worried that something will happen to you.”

“What’s summer camp got to do with this?”

“Glad you asked. I did some research, and it turns out that summer is when kids and teens get into the most trouble. Something about having free time and no obligations. We thought about getting you a job, but not a lot of places hire 12-year-olds. Something about ‘child labor laws.’”

“I’m almost 13 . . .” Peter muttered.

Ignoring his child, Tony continued. “I looked into other things--community service, chores, sports--and saw this,” he took out the pamphlet from his jean pocket. It was crumpled. “I figured that having you remain busy and structured would keep you out of getting arrested. Again.” 

Peter couldn’t help but smile at his dad’s last comment. “Okay, okay. I see. Can I borrow that pamphlet?” 

“All yours.” Tony opened up the flaps and pointed out some key items. “See, it’s only 6 weeks, so you’ll still have half the summer left. Basically all they do is play, swim, and eat marshmallows. Sounds like heaven to me.” 

“No offense, but I’d rather stay in my air conditioned room and play videogames.”

“Peter. At least give it a try. If you don’t like it, I’ll pick you up, and I’ll never suggest it again.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Really? You’ll pick me up?”

“You have my word.”

“Huh.” He thought it over. “Okay. Fine. I’ll try it. But, if I don’t like it you’re picking me up that instant. Not a day later.”

“Deal.”

The two shook hands to seal the verbal contract.

“Okay.” Tony rustled his son’s brown locks. “Now go to sleep. Last day of school is tomorrow. Wouldn’t want you missing out on all the partying.” The bed creaked under the loss of his weight.

“Not much partying for me when I’m grounded,” Peter said stretching out on the extra space on his bed.

Tony stopped halfway out the door. “Oh! That’s what I forgot.” He turned back to Peter. “You’re ungrounded. Your version of the story was much cooler than the cop’s, and we thought that warranted a little prize.”

Peter jolted from his bed. “Are you for real?!” 

“Yes, I’m ‘for real.’ Pops and I decided your crime, or lack of, didn’t fit the punishment. Or the punishment didn’t fit the crime? You get what I mean.” 

Peter rushed over and hugged Tony before he could leave the room. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Yeah. Have fun tomorrow, kiddo.” 

“Sure thing. Um, night.”

“Good night. You want me to tuck you in?”

“Dad! I’m almost thirteen. Stop.” 

Tony observed the child, the person before him. He had grown taller this past year, and his voice was beginning to change as well. Although he still held some of his babyish features, they were fainter and less prominent on his body. 

“Rest up, Peter.” Tony shut the door behind him and made his way down to the lab wondering if it were possible (and legal) to invent a chemical that halted the phenomena of growing older.


	3. Night Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In one week, Peter is going to be heading to a place he doesn't really want to be at. And, the events that occur leading up to that day leave him feeling even more morose. Does he really have to go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pretty chill. I quite enjoyed writing it

It was over. Friday was coming to an end. This day, the one that signaled the time as a seventh grader, had come to an end. Next year would be eight grade. Then, high school. 

“Then, next thing you know he’ll be filling out college applications. He’ll be moving out. He’ll take all his things. His room will be empty. He’ll have his own life. He’ll probably get interested in new things. Career-wise or relationship-wise. Oh, man . . . He’s going to be in a relationship. Move in together. Adopt a dog.”

“A dog?” Tony’s interruption went unnoticed by Steve who was still mumbling about his son’s possible future. 

“ . . . and, we’re going to be all alone in this stupid, big house.”

Tony snapped at Steve’s final words. “Hey! This house is not stupid. It is my child.” He rubbed the brown walls of his study. “It’s okay, baby. He didn’t mean it.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh, which warranted a glare from his husband. “Sorry, sorry,” he said through stifled laughter. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” 

Tony opened his mouth to reprimand him but was interrupted by Peter.

“Dad? Pops?”

“In here, kiddo,” Tony called back.

The thudding of steps preceded the creaking door. Peter, still in his school uniform, stepped in. He was already speaking before he was fully in the room. 

“So, Harry’s having this end of the year party tonight, and everybody’s going. MJ’s going, too, and some other people from school (all in my grade). It’s going to be in the backyard, so it’ll be like a pool party as well with music and snacks and stuff. It’s going to be lit! And, I really want to go but it’s going to be an all-nighter so basically we’re going to spend the night over there--his dad’s going to chaperone so no worries--and I was just wondering if that’d be cool with you but please I really want to go please, please, please!”

He was practically jumping in place during his rapid-fire speech, and Steve had to place his hands on his shoulders to slow him down before he exhausted himself.

“Whoa whoa whoa! Hold on there, Peter. An all-nighter? I’m not sure about th--”

Placing his arm around Steve, Tony cut him off. “All nighter, huh? Sounds fun. Right, Steve?”

“What?” he snarled at Tony.

“I said, ‘it sounds fun,’ doesn’t it?” The two men stared at each other for a couple of seconds before Steve broke contact.

Eyes wide, the more reluctant father hesitated before granting his son permission. “Yeah. It--it does sound . . . fun.”

“So . . . I can go?” Peter said. His brown eyes shimmered with excitement as he looked from Tony’s honey-like eyes to Steve’s ocean-blue irises. 

Tony looked to Steve. “It’s okay with me.”

Sighing, Steve said, “And with me.”

Peter raised both fists in the air. “YES! Thank you thank you thank--”

“Just be careful. Don’t drink anything alcoholic. Your body is growing, and it can have a series impact. No drugs. Don’t mess around in the pool. No . . .” Steve continued reciting the list Peter had heard a few times before. He knew his father meant well, but he also wished he’d had more faith in him. Peter was nearing the official age of adolescence, and it bothered him that he was still treated like a child. 

Then again, he had been brought home in handcuffs two days ago. 

“Okay, okay.” Tony pushed Steve away. “I think the kid knows the drill.” He placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Want me to give you a ride?”

“Yes, please.” He gave his dad a toothy grin. 

“Grab your stuff. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Peter rushed out the door but not before his pops dismissed him with a quick hug and a “be safe.” 

“I got it, Pops,” he said annoyingly. But, he did hug Steve back before running to his room.

“How am I supposed to survive his leaving for college when I can’t even stand the thought of him being away for one night?”

Tony playfully patted Steve’s blonde hair. “Well, I guess this summer is a practice run for the two of you.”

“Oh, right. I forgot about the whole camp situation.”

“It’s not too late to back out.”

Steve shook his head. “No. It’s for his own good. I don’t want to be selfish about this--about anything when it comes to him.”

Tony chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. It’s just--” Tony faced him. “Well, you’re going to do great. When he goes off to college, I mean. And, with the whole summer camp thing, too.”

“How do you know?”

“Because, I’ve seen what you’re capable of.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Instead of answering, Tony gave him a passionate kiss and let his hands travel down his muscular body, from his shoulder down to his hip.

Steve grabbed onto him, pulling him closer against him. He wanted to feel Tony as close to his body as he could, but Tony distanced himself. 

“I gotta go drop off Peter. Finish this after?”

Pursing his lips, Steve pretended to maul the question over. “We’ll see.”

Tony opened his mouth to deliver his retort but was once again interrupted by his son ushering him downstairs. 

“Let’s go, Dad! I need to help Harry set up some of the stuff. He already texted me.”

“I’m coming. I’m coming.” Tony gave Steve another kiss and made his way out the room. He closed the door softly behind him leaving it a fraction ajar. 

Steve looked around the now abandoned study. Once again, Steve was left alone in a large space by his son and husband. “Take care,” he whispered into the empty room before making his exit.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

“What?!” Harry yelled over the booming music. 

“I said!” Peter screamed back just as loud. The music, although entertaining, was too loud for a proper conversation to be had, but he had to try. “I don’t see Mary Jane around here! Are you sure she came?!”

“Yeah, dude! She’s--”

But, Harry’s words were lost on Peter for his answer came in the form of a tap on the shoulder.

“Hey, Peter. I thought you weren’t coming.”

She was wearing her red hair up, which Peter had never seen her do before. _She always has it down,_ he thought, _or in a messy ponytail_. “MJ! I can’t hear you! The music it’s--” A tug on his sleeve stopped him mid-sentence, and he blindly followed her through the crowd of dancing middle schoolers. He let her guide him out of this cacophony of sounds and sights. The backyard was sensory hell at the moment. The bright lights. The loud music. The splashes from those in the pool. But, as Mary Jane dragged him on, it seemed that they were receding from this over-stimulated area and into a more serene environment. “Where are we going?!” 

No reply. Either Mary Jane didn’t hear him or she refused to answer. Peter opted for asking again in a louder tone, but she stopped and turned toward him making him choke back his words. 

Peter looked around. They were on the front porch of the Osborn residence away from the crowd. It was quieter here, well, at least compared to the on-goings of the backyard shenanigans. The music was audible but not conversation-impeding. He could still hear some of the actions from the party (screaming, splashing, etc.), but, for the most part, it was peaceful.

They climbed the two steps leading up the porch. Mary Jane made her way to the swinging bench and motioned Peter over. He sat beside her, the seat rocking her in the process.

It’d been awhile since he sat here. As kids, the three of them (MJ, Harry, and Peter) would jump on the swinging bench and swing as fast through the air as their little legs could carry them. They broke it once, the bench. Harry had been so frightened his father would scold him, but one of his many butlers had taken care of it. Norman never noticed. Not ‘til this day. And, probably never. 

He leaned back on the white, wooden chair and began to slowly rock himself. Looking out at the large yard in front of him, he was able to properly think. It was so serene. Here, all his troubles, all his stress-inducing thoughts, seemed to dissipate. Perhaps that is why the three of them had enjoyed playing out here so much: it became a whole ‘nother world.

“Why are we--” he stopped to clear his throat. Now that they were away from the chaos in the backyard, Peter found it unnecessary to scream out every word. “Why are we here?” he tried again. He hadn’t realized it, but his throat felt hoarse. Even his voice appeared a bit raspy. He swallowed down some saliva hoping to sooth it.

Mary Jane offered him a soda. “It’s too loud over there. We’d barely be able to keep up a conversation.”

After taking a sip of his drink, he let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah.”

The quiet dawned on them once more. Then, “I heard you were going away this summer. Summer camp or something.”

Incredulously, Peter looked at her. “How’d you know?”

“Word travels fast.” 

Her quick response told Peter she wasn’t intending to get more specific, but, unsatisfied, he probed on. “I was going to tell you tomorrow after the party. Who told you? It was Harry wasn’t it?”

She chuckled. “No. Your dad.”

“Dad?” He hadn’t expected her to confess so easily.

“Yeah. I think he likes me,” she said smugly.

“I think it’d be impossible to find somebody who didn’t.”

“Wow. Smooth. How do you not have a girlfriend, yet?” she laughed.

He examined the night stars twinkling above them and felt a light breeze flow through his hair causing his brown locks to sway in the darkness. “Not interested.”

Mary Jane looked toward him curiously albeit flustered. “In general or . . .”

The bench swung furiously as Peter fluttered about. “No! That’s not what I--I mean, I--I’m not . . .” He looked down at his black sneakers. “I’m not entirely sure what I mean, to be honest.”

She offered him a sympathetic smile and placed her arm around him. “We’re only twelve. We still have our whole lives to figure that out.”

He took her hand in his. “I suppose so.” Then, quickly added, “Almost thirteen, though.”

She gave him a glare that went unnoticed. 

He continued rocking the bench, back and forth. Back and forth. Somewhere in the grass, the cicadas picked up their tune. In her mind, the bench became a rocking chair and the cicadas a lullaby. And, Mary Jane was once again a baby cuddling in the bosom of her now dead mother. 

Placing her head softly on his shoulder, she let her body relax and her eyes close. _Yes_ , she thought, _this was probably what it felt like_. She felt the bench sway as he kicked his leg ever so gently. The summer breeze joined their embrace. It was all very . . . mellow. 

She fought back the tears.

Again, she was the one to interrupt the peace. “This is a nice way to spend the night before summer officially begins, isn’t it?” If the silence had continued any longer, she might’ve fallen asleep there and then. But, she wanted this moment to last.

“I’ll say. So,” he wanted to keep her talking. He enjoyed hearing her talk. “Um, any summer plans?”

“Harry and I are probably going to hang out. Get ice cream. Go swimming. The usual stuff.”

“I see. Same old same old, huh?” he said rather solemnly. 

He felt the movement of her head nodding in agreement. 

Disappointed she didn’t say anything else, he changed the topic. “Um, are you going to stay over tonight?”

“Of course! It’ll be just like the sleepovers we used to have in elementary school.”

The nostalgia invaded Peter. “Oh yeah! I had forgotten about those. We spent a whole year sleeping over at one of our houses every Friday, didn’t we?”

“Yes! And, on Saturday we’d always have the same meal.”

“Pancakes and cereal!” they both said at the same time before erupting into laughter. 

“Yes,” Peter sighed. “I remember. And, it’s Friday today, too, so it’s exactly like old times.”

Her head snapped up, and he was already beginning to feel the loss of her body. “You make it sound like we’re eighty years old.”

“Might as well be. The world is already starting to become unfair, and I’m beginning to realize how much wrong there is in this life. It sucks.”

“Wow. Keep it positive, Peter.” She adjusted herself on the swaying bench, rocking it more in the process.

He chuckled. “Sorry. I just don’t want to go away. I’d rather be with you and Harry. Like always.”

There was a pause before she spoke as if she were trying to gather her thoughts. “We’re gonna miss you, you know? It will be the first summer without the three of us together.”

“The Terrible Trio.”

“Together since birth!”

Their laughter filled the air. 

“It won’t be the same without you.”

In the darkness, Peter could barely make out her face, but he knew her green eyes were looking back at him. “Don’t worry, Miss Watson. It’s only gonna be for half the summer. I’ll be back before you know it.”

She gave his arm a playful punch. “You better.”

“I will. I will. I promise,” he said rubbing the now sore spot on his arm.

She buried her face in his chest. “You better,” she whispered into his shirt.

He smoothed down her red hair. “I don’t break promises.”

With her head being comforted by his gentle hands, the two friends greeted summer together with nothing but the stars above them, the breeze below them touching their naked shins, the muffled noises of the party-goers behind them, and the future in front of them.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

His phone vibrated, and he frantically searched for it in his pocket. _Why is it that your pocket becomes the freaking Grand Canyon as soon as you’re searching for something?_

After a few uncomfortable seconds, he managed to wrestle out the cellphone from his jeans. 

“Yo!” the first message read. “U left already?”

It had been a week since Harry had hosted that End of School Party. A week since he sat on the porch with Mary Jane. A week since he had began to mourn a lost summer. Now, he was in one of his dad’s car being lead to whatever hellhole Camp Ultimate would turn out to be. His parents were up front whispering amongst themselves. Peter had eavesdropped on a bit of their conversation, but it was of no interest to him, so he had settled for the music coming from the speakers.

His fingers got to work. “On the way atm,” he wrote back. “Pops wont stop talking”

Almost as soon as he sent the messages, his phone buzzed again. 

“lol your pops worries too much. Tbh sometimes ii wish my dad was like that”

“It’s not that cool. Trust me. It gets annoying af after a while”

“Peter!” 

Peter’s head snapped up.

“Are you even listening?”

“Yeah, Pops. Totally.” His phone buzzed exposing his lie. “Uhh . . . I was just saying goodbye to Harry.”

Steve scowled. 

“Come on, Steve.” Tony, continuing to look straight ahead, came to Peter’s defense. “The kid’s not going to have his phone for six weeks. Just let him get it out of his system.”

“I am trying to give him some advice, and he’s just ignoring everything.”

“Advice?” Tony scoffed, “I thought you were reading off a list of military rules.”

This time, the scowl was aimed at his husband.

Stifling his laughter, Peter voiced his agreement with Tony. “Please, Pops. At least let me say goodbye to my friends.” He put on the best “puppy eyes” he could. 

Caving in to his two boys, he said, “Fine. But, it’s not like you’re going away forever.”

“Sure feels like it,” he mumbled from the backseat. 

“I heard that.”

“Sorry,” he said, his eyes never leaving the phone’s bright screen, and his fingers never resting. 

After a few more miles -- and many texts -- Tony spoke up. “I think that’s the bus.”

Steve looked out the window, as did Peter. A white, school bus looking thing with black letters on the side (Peter assumed the letters spelled out the name of the camp, but from his angle he couldn’t be sure) was stationed in a nearly empty parking lot.

“There’s not a lot of people or cars around,” Steve said. “Are we late?”

“Only a little,” Tony replied.

“What? When were we supposed to get here?”

“Oh,” Tony shrugged, “just a couple of minutes ago . . . or an hour . . .”

“What?!”

“It’s okay,” Tony continued. “I politely asked if they could wait just a tad bit longer, and they willingly agreed.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at him. “You paid them off, didn’t you?”

“That’s a possibility.”

“Tony!”

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold up,” Peter interrupted. “Bus? I thought you were taking me all the way to camp. Nobody told me anything about a bus.”

“You sound like such a spoiled, rich kid,” Tony teased.

“That’s because I _am_ a spoiled, rich kid.”

Tony pretended to think it over. “True.”

“Tony, you’re worse than him. At least Peter has manners,” Steve added. Then, under his breath, “And he doesn’t pay off people so he could get an extra hour of sleep.”

“What was that?” Tony asked.

“Nothing, honey. Just keep your eyes on the road.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “You people are impossible.”

Crossing the parking lot in what would probably be an illegal manner, the car pulled over next to the white bus. There were already people inside. Most around Peter’s age, some younger, others older. All irritated.

_Great_ , Peter thought. _Now, they’re all going to hate me for making them wait in this freaking heat_.

Tony cut the engine, and Steve was already opening the door.

Peter gripped the seat belt. “I’m having second thoughts.”

“You’re going,” Tony replied removing the key from the ignition.

“Maybe we can work something out,” Peter bargained.

“Nope.” Tony got out of the car and joined Steve. 

Peter watched them through the windshield. They were saying something that he couldn’t make out. _I should learn how to read lips. Maybe my dad’s lawyer can help me. Oh, wait. He’s blind not deaf. Stupid Peter._ His door flung open. “Let’s go, kiddo.”

He hesitated, but either he got out of his own free will or risk being carried out of the backseat all the way to the bus. “Fine.” He slid his way out the car.

Tony stopped him. “Uhuh. Phone.”

Groaning, Peter took out his phone from his pocket and slammed it into Tony’s open palm.

“Thank you,” Tony said. 

Steve witnessed the exchange. He already had both of Peter’s bags under his arms. “Let’s go. There’s somebody over there waving us over.” He nodded over to the front of the bus. 

Sure enough, a tall, lanky man in a gray uniform was swaying his right hand in their direction, motioning for them. Peter grabbed his backpack from the backseat before slamming the car door and trudged silently behind his parents. There was no turning back now. 

The short walk from Tony’s car to the opened doors of the bus already had Peter drenched in sweat, the 10 o’clock summer sun beating down on his 12-year-old body. 

He stopped by the first step up the bus. The opened doors began to look like a wide open mouth waiting to devour him. A chill ran down his spine. But, the cool gust of air kissing his cheeks beckoned him over. Although he didn’t want to spend his summer away from his par--friends, he actually couldn’t wait to get inside the air-conditioned bus. He just needed to lift his leg and--

“Okay, Peter,” Steve began before Peter could proceed any further, “I, um, well--Just take care.” He hugged the boy tightly.

“Pops, I can’t breathe!”

“Sorry. Now make sure you have everyth--” A loud ring interrupted the moment. Steve quickly took it out of his pocket and looked at the vibrating phone. “It’s work,” he said as if that explanation would excuse everything. “I’ll make this quick. Hello.” He began talking into the phone.

Peter’s annoyance was not lost on Tony, and he quickly took over. “Listen, Peter,” he made a move to place his hand on his son’s shoulder but put it in his pocket instead. “We’re not doing this--this whole camp thing to get rid of you, you know that, right?”

Peter sighed. “Yeah. It’s just . . . You’d think he’d put work on hold until I got on the bus.”

Offering him a smile, Tony explained, “You know how he is. It’s all for you. Everything he does is for you.”

“Sure doesn’t seem like it.” Peter gripped his backpack and made his way up the three steps leading to his new journey. 

“Have fun, kiddo,” Tony softly called out.

“Will do.” He was already on the top step.

“Wait!”

Peter turned around at the sound of his pop’s voice. 

Steve looked up at him. His eyes had softened, and a small smile appeared on his sweaty face. “I’ll miss you.”

“ _We_ ’ll miss you,” Tony stated.

Steve’s smile grew. “Yeah. We’ll miss you. And,” he hesitated, thought about it, then proceeded with “we love you.”

Peter’s cheeks, already bestowed with the redness the sun had forced upon him, grew hotter. “Yeah. Um, same. Bye.” He quickly made his way through the aisle ignoring every pair of eyes on him and found an empty seat by the window halfway down the bus. He sat alone, his backpack beside him. 

He looked out the window. 

His dad was discussing something with the tall guy and another bearded man Peter hadn’t taken notice of before. He looked a few inches to the right and captured his pops on the phone. 

_Typical. Just freaking typical._

He kept staring until Tony stepped away from the two men who had already started up the steps. 

The bearded man sat on the driver’s seat and reached for the key in the ignition. He must’ve left it in to keep the AC on for the ones that had gotten here on time. Peter kept his head down. A few seconds later, the doors closed with a loud whoosh, and the tall, lanky man stepped forward and greeted them all. He read out the rules in an extra-cheerful manner before welcoming them all again to Camp Ultimate. 

Peter didn’t bother to listen. His fists were clenched and teeth gritted as he observed his fathers chatting excitedly under the summer sun.

The engine roared. When the wheels started to turn, Peter, too, turned. He looked away from the window and pretended not to catch their waves goodbye. Instead, he looked into his backpack and brought out a brown paper bag. He took out the contents of the creased bag. Orange juice. Apple slices. And, a sandwich. Oh, the sandwich. With one bite he'd be able to tell who made it for him. If it was loaded with vegetables, it'd be Pops. If it was stuffed with meat, it'd be Dad. Oddly, he was eager to see what was contained between the two slices of bread, but he knew the answer before he took a bite. Ham, lettuce, cheese.

"Jarvis," Peter said quietly. _They couldn't even be bothered to pack me a lunch. Even with the two of them home they left it to the butler._ He stuffed the items back into his backpack.

As the bus drove on, one final thought entered Peter’s mind. 

_This is gonna suck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter finally arrives at the camp in the next chapter!


	4. Where all Your Dreams Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is greeted at camp by an unusual scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be busy this weekend so expect a delay on Chapter 5.

As is standard in life, advertising relies heavily on hyperbole. A brand will try and sell their product by exaggerating the good while diminishing -- or just straight-out ignoring -- the bad. And, thus, the brochure his dad had presented him with appeared to be the greatest thing on Earth and had aptly lived up to the name of “Ultimate.” It looked quite pleasant in print. The lake nice and cool. The activities extra-entertaining. The people friendly as heck. However, Peter had grown up in this capitalist world from the inside. He knew the works more so than any other child his age (and most adults).

Needless to say, he hadn’t known what to expect . . . but it certainly wasn’t this. 

Stepping off the bus after a rather long ride (they’d been cooped up for nearly three hours with a short pit stop in between), he stretched his body and took a few hard steps to wake up his feet. “No wonder Dad didn’t want to bring me,” Peter muttered. 

Being preoccupied with his own body, it took a moment before his eyes took in the scenery that awaited him. He rubbed his eyes to make sure what laid before him wouldn’t evaporate like a mirage. But, even after the third time, the hallucination remained. 

“This is awesome,” he heard a boy behind him exclaim. 

“Looks pretty cool,” another agreed. 

The comments continued on, and Peter, who realized his jaw had slightly dropped in awe, had to agree. For the first time in his young life, the truth was actually in the advertising. With the pristine lake reflecting the sun’s rays, the large, shady trees providing a fair amount of shade, and sturdy log cabins further down the dirt path, this camp thing was already beginning to seem “pretty cool.” 

Looking around, Peter noticed the people. There were about thirty in all, more girls than boys including the two adults. He squinted his eyes in an effort to catch what laid beyond and failed to notice a man wearing a gray uniform dashing past him. The two bumped shoulders, but, Peter, legs still wobbly, miraculously managed to maintain his balance as the other continued his jog toward the bus as if nothing had occurred. 

“Is this the last bus?”

More people in those bland gray outfits had appeared and were conversing with the tall, lanky guy that had rode on the bus with Peter. They all appeared around the same age: young but with a tinge of matureness. College students looking to make a few extra bucks or gain some credit for a class they actually care about, perhaps.

“Seems like it. Can you give me a hand with the luggage?”

The lanky guy and the one that had bumped into Peter and a female also in that drab uniform opened up one of the bus’s compartment and began taking out suitcases and bags filled with clothes and toiletries. They laid the luggage out on the ground quite neatly; Peter spotted his right away and made his way forward. Others were already there tugging away at their bags. 

“Alright,” a lady donning a blond braid called out. “All the girls come with me.”

Immediately, half of the busriders, with their luggage in tow, followed the woman down the path away from the boys. 

For the first time, Peter realized that there were two paths leading through the woods. The first one, the one that he had taken notice of, and that the women was standing on, appeared to be to the girls’ cabins. That meant that the other path--

“All the boys over here!” A goofy-looking, muscular man with light brown hair motioned them over. “Hey, Georgie!” he called to the ones still hoisting the luggage out of the bus. “This the last bunch?”

“It’s Georges,” the tall guy that had ridden on Peter’s bus called back. In this agitated state, a tinge of an accent escaped him. French, perhaps. “And, yes. This is the whole lot.”

“Alright. Cool. Thanks, Georgie.” 

A crowd had already gathered around the man with the sandy hair. Peter walked over, inching his way to the front. He had to make up somehow for his short stature.

The man cleared his throat. “Hello. My name is Peter.”

Peter’s (the kid) eyes widened. _Great. Just what I needed. Confusion._

“I’m going to be your camp counselor guide dude for the summer,” Peter (the camp counselor guide dude) continued. “Also, for reasons you’ll soon come to understand, I prefer going by the name of Star-Lord.”

“Why?” a squeaky-voiced kid asked.

“I just said ‘for reasons you’ll soon come to understand.’ Try to keep up, Chipmunk.”

“But, that’s kinda weird,” another piped up. 

“Yeah.” More kids began to voice their disagreement with the name “Star-Lord.”

“Fine, fine. Quill. Just call me Quill. It’s--It’s preferable to Peter. I guess . . .” When nobody agreed, he added, “It’s my last name, okay!”

Murmurs traveled through the small crowd.

Quill rolled his eyes at his failed attempt at recognition and proceeded to give them the mandatory speech sprinkling in a few jokes in between every couple of sentences. Peter actually listened to him. His genuine fun demeanor differed from the extra-cheery personality the guy in the bus (Georges?) had put on. “Alright, you little rodents, let’s get going!” He turned around a bit too energetically almost tripping on his own feet. A few of the boys that caught that snickered, but for the most part everybody else was too busy gathering their items. 

The sun’s rays barely squeezed through the thick, green canopies of the tall trees. Every other second a rustling would occur either because of the summer breeze picking up or a squirrel scurrying home. 

Peter took in a deep breath of nature. _Maybe this won’t be so bad. I mean, we got the Peter thing settled already, so . . ._.

Their journey lasted for about twelve minutes. Quill was an easily distracted fella and every rustle or brush would cause him to stop and explore. It didn’t bother the rest of them, though. The way Quill ecstatically spoke about their environment, the way he motioned to certain aspects of their scenery, kept them attentive. Peter, for one, would have enjoyed listening to him talk about trees for hours. He’d had worse teachers before, so that would have been an improvement. But, at last, the trees began to part, and they stood before an opening containing a row of eight lined up cabins. The lake also shimmered next to them, and, on the other side of the water, was the girls’ cabins.

They walked down the path along the lake, the cabins lined up to their right. There were ten cabins in all, but the first two, which were off to the side, seemed to belong to the counselors. They were marked with the words “Lounge” and “Quarters.” The other eight cabins were distinguished by their number. 

Each boy was assigned to one of these. They started at Cabin #1 and an older teen was lead to it. Next, they moved on to Cabin #2 and another boy went inside. Then, Cabin #3. At Cabin #8, two boys disappeared inside, and then they moved up to Cabin #7 which would be Peter’s summer home. He went inside and dropped off his luggage in one of the top bunks and quickly rejoined the group.

_Lucky number seven_

After everybody had dropped off their bags, they followed Quill back to the small forest-like area and gathered at the opening where the trees were narrower. Peter noticed that there were already other campers here. _This must be what they meant about the last bus_. There was also another group of those gray uniformed men. 

Peter counted. There were seven men here, but Georges had stayed back discussing something with the bus driver, and it looked like he still hadn’t returned. That would make 

_Eight adults and about forty adolescent boys. This should be good._

“Alright everybody.” All the boys had been grouped together and now Quill was addressing his larger audience. “Look around you because this--” he motioned with both his hands, “these are the people you’re gonna be stuck with all summer.”

Peter’s attention moved from Quill to Georges who was now joining the group of those uniform-cladded men. 

_And that makes eight._

The thought had briefly left Peter’s mind when a loud scream pierced the sky. 

At once, all the boys began murmuring amongst themselves. Eyes darted right and left. Some looked up to the sky. Others across the river. Peter looked straight ahead, past the irritated group of camp counselors, to the log cabins. 

Quill, abandoning his post, walked over to the group of men. Peter, too, inched closer to the front of the crowd of gossiping boys in hopes of catching any information amidst the men’s conversations. Quill’s lowered voice made this task difficult. 

“. . . you sure?” Peter heard Quill mutter.

“Yeah. He’s fine. Well, as fine as he can be,” the long-haired counselor replied.

Quill cursed under his breath.

“Watch your language. The Boss is on his way,” Georges snapped.

“Oh, he’s actually coming this time?”

Georges nodded.

“What are we gonna do about him?” a sunglasses-wearing counselor with short, brown hair asked.

Quill waved it off. “He’ll be fine. You know how Wade is. He just likes to stir sh--things up, but he never means any harm.”

“What did he do this time?” Georges appeared fairly agitated.

“Let's just say he took over one of the cabins,” the counselor with sunglasses replied.

Quill laughed.

“What?! Why have you not retrieved him, yet?!” Georges agitation skyrocketed. 

“Logan’s not here, yet. You know he’s the only one that has him under control.”

“He’s thirteen, for Odin’s sake. Just get him out before--” Georges stopped.

Confused, Peter followed his gaze. He wasn’t the only one. Heads began to turn. The counselors stared straight ahead, and the boys looked over their shoulders.

An intimidating presence had fallen upon them. 

For the second time that day, Peter’s jaw dropped. It was a man. He, too, was in uniform, but it wasn’t this bland, gray one. No. He was clad in black with a badge on his chest. His bald head shone under the sun, and his dark beard was well-trimmed. But, what caught Peter’s eye was the absence of one. This man, as intimidating as he already was, only added to this intimidation by having a black eyepatch over his left eye. Peter’s imagination raced as the possibilities of what could lay under there scurried through his mind.

“Welcome,” he said in a booming voice, “to Camp Ultimate! I am your camp director, Mr. Fury.”

Nobody spoke. 

“I see some familiar faces,” Mr. Fury continued. “Welcome back. I see a lot of new ones as well. To those of you I say, good luck.” He walked through the crowd of kids confident that they’d step out of the way for him.

He stopped in front of the group of counselors and began walking down the line, nodding to them as he passed. They each nodded back. Quill raised an arm in salute. When he got to the last one in line, Georges, he looked to the empty spot next to him and frowned. Then, he proceeded to make his way toward the spot Quill had stood at not five minutes ago and addressed the group of anxious boys.

The world around them seemed to quiet as if nature was trying not to disrupt Mr. Fury’s upcoming speech. “This will not be your regular camp. It’s not all fun and games. Here, you will learn skills you cannot get anywhere else. Skills that will make the difference between life and death.”

Perhaps it was his imagination, but it appeared that Mr. Fury had looked at Peter directly when he said this last statement. Peter gulped. Even with the sun shining down on him, he felt chills invade his body.

“And, these,” he pointed to the counselors, “these men will be the ones to teach them to you.” He continued by stating their names, introducing them to the kids; however, before he could utter Georges’ name, a shattering sound pierced the silence.

“What was that?” Mr. Fury had turned his back to them and was looking down the row of cabins as Peter had done before.

Georges began to make his way to him. “Nothing to worry about, sir, we--”

“Dammit. It’s Wade again.” Quill rushed past Georges, shouldering him in the process, and ran down the line of cabins. 

“Wade?” Mr. Fury turned to the other counselors. “Where’s Logan? I thought he had this under control!”

“Um, yes, about that . . .” Georges spoke up, “he, um, he’s not here.”

“I can see that!” Mr. Fury focused his gaze on the group of adults. “Why are you people so incompetent?”

Georges, shaking, simply looked down and uttered a “Yes, sir.”

Murmurs traveled through the crowd as Mr. Fury continued yelling at Georges (his screams were intended for the group of counselors, but it seemed that Georges was the one taking the direct hit). The kids around Peter’s age had began making up wild stories about what was occurring. The older ones seemed to know something about it. They were quiet, arms crossed. Some, Peter noticed, had even rolled their eyes as if this were an everyday occurrence. He decided to get to the bottom of this and turned to the dark-haired teen next to him. 

“Um. Excuse me. What’s going on?”

He didn’t bother to look at Peter. “Same old stuff. Probably Wade.”

“Who’s Wade?”

“You don’t wanna know.”

This just made him want to know even more. 

While the counselors were preoccupied with the kids and Mr. Fury was yelling at Georges, he took the chance to escape from the group. Slowly, he started to pry away from them. Since they were still by the opening, a few trees were scattered about. He darted behind the nearest one and proceeded from there. 

The first log cabin was a few feet away, and he’d have to cross Mr. Fury’s line of sight. He had to wait for the right moment when he’d focus his attention away from Ge--

Another shattering erupted.

Everybody’s gaze was focused to the log cabins further down the line, and Peter took this opportunity to run. It wasn’t guaranteed that he’d gone unnoticed by one of the boys, but none of the adults had seen him. Once his body was hidden behind the first log cabin, he pressed his body against it and took a few short breaths. Then, he broke into a dash toward the sound. 

He was running past Cabin #3 when it occurred to him that he had no idea where Quill had ran off to nor where he was headed. But, he didn’t have to worry about finding his way for

“I HAVE RIGHTS!” 

a scream lead him to his destination.

Peter stopped running and dashed behind a large rock near between Cabin numbers 6 and 7. Slowly, he peeked from the top of the mossy boulder outside the cabin. Quill was standing in front of the cabin where he would be spending six weeks in, but the voice that had shouted was still childlike, so it couldn’t have come from him. But, he saw no children here. What he did see were shards of glass strewn about on the ground. 

“Wade, please,” Peter heard Quill plead. “The director is here.”

“You don’t care about that bald pirate!” That was the same voice that had lead Peter to this spot. Peter looked left and right, but there was nobody else in sight. 

“Okay, yes,” Quill continued, “you’re right. But--just get down from there.”

It was now that he realized that Quill had been looking up the whole time. Peter followed his gaze to see a boy, not much older than him, on the roof of the log cabin.

_Guess they were serious about him taking OVER the cabin_

The boy raised his hand in the air, the sun glinted off of something in arm. With a loud “NEVER!” he threw whatever was in his hand to the ground.

Another shattering sound pierced the air, and Peter found the source of the fragments of glass.

_Glass bottles_

Although he had thrown the bottle in a way that Quill wouldn’t have been hurt, Quill shielded his eyes in case a stray shard hit him. “Where did you even get the bottles? We don’t allow outside stuff.”

“I stole--borrowed them from the lounge. I could only carry three sodas, so that was my last one.”

Quill wiped sweat from his forehead. “What do you want? We’ll make a deal.”

“Money,” he answered quickly.

“I can’t give you money. I barely have enough for me!”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a deadbeat you would.”

“How--how dare you?!” Quill stammered. “I did not sign up for this to be--to be talked down by troublemakers like you.”

“No. Of course not. You signed up cuz you have no other money-making skills.”

“I do, too!”

“Stealing doesn’t count.”

“I have never . . . Just wait. When Logan gets here--”

“What? What is Old-man Logan gonna do? Bore me to death with war stories?”

“Nah. I’m not into mind-torture.”

Peter had been so focused on the boy that he hadn’t realized the new figure up on the roof. And, apparently, neither had Wade. But, when the gruff voice spoke up, they both turned to the muscular man glaring at Wade. He was wearing the standard gray pants, but his uniform seemed incomplete. Instead of that gray, buttoned shirt, he donned a white tank top.

“Logan! Hey. What’s up, buddy?” Peter noticed the boy began backing away from the counselor. Slowly. “I was just kidding about that whole 'old man' thing. You’re still young. It’s totally not weird that you still work here surrounded by kids.” He was nearing the edge . . . his right foot close to the border . . .

Peter couldn’t help himself. His hero instincts kicked in, and he did something he shouldn’t have.

Wade looked out to where the new voice had come from and saw a kid a bit younger than him standing next to the rock he used to hide behind when escaping Logan. He had shouted . . . at him? Yeah. He had. But, what had he said?

His sneakered, left foot took another step back, but there was nothing there. 

_Oh, yeah,_ Wade thought. _He said_

“WATCH OUT!” 

Peter regretted the words as soon as they came out. Screaming them at this point made no difference. His foot had already been in motion. The only thing that came of it was that he had been spotted. No. Screaming was no good. But, maybe he could--

He was about to jolt to the spot Wade would hit when he landed but stopped. 

Peter looked up. “Huh?”

“I can’t breathe. I’m dead! Ugh! I can feel the blood. My body hurts all over. Oh, I think I landed on a rock. Ouch! It hurts so much.”

“Wade . . .” the gruff voice came again.

“I was so young. How can this be? I died at summer camp, that’s just bull--”

“Wade!”

He turned to Logan. “What?! Can’t you see I’m dead?!”

“Wade. You’re not dead. At least not yet.”

Wade stopped panicking. He was not falling but dangling from the roof. His shirt felt tight around his chest, and he saw why. Logan was holding on to the back of his shirt. It was the only thing separating him from the ground. 

“Okay. You’re getting heavy now.” Logan reeled the boy back in. He let go of him as soon as his two feet were planted on the roof.

“Haha. Thanks, Logan, my man.” Wade gave him a playful punch on the chest. “Now, I’m just gonna go--”

He gripped Wade’s arm. “Not so fast.”

“Huh? But this is all a mistake. I was just messing around. Right, Quill? You and I were just having fun. Look--” he pointed to the ground. “I wasn’t aiming for the lazy bum. Quill?”

“What was that?” Quill had taken out his phone and was tapping away. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you over the trauma you instilled in me just now.” He smirked and turned his back to the cabin. 

“What? Dude. What the f--Ow!”

Logan’s grip on him tightened. “Let’s go, kid.” He lead him down the ladder he had placed. He had no idea how Wade had gotten up here in the first place, and, frankly, he didn’t bother to care. 

They came around from the back at the same time Mr. Fury and Georges reached the cabin.

Peter, who had taken refuge behind the rock once again, peeked from the side to see the outcome.

Upon seeing Logan holding onto Wade, Georges grinned. “See. I told you everything was under control,” he addressed Mr. Fury.

Mr. Fury’s eye narrowed. “I see.”

“Do you?” Wade said, motioning to his left eye. “Ow!” Logan had clutched his arm harder.

“What did you do this time, Mr. Wilson.”

Wade said nothing but opted for the comfort of the ground. 

“He was skipping orientation,” Logan said in his raspy voice. “Hiding around here.”

“And I suppose you were searching for him this whole time.” Mr. Fury was referring to his absence from the orientation. Logan was talented at keeping the boys under control, but he also had a tendency to avoid obligatory camp meetings.

“That’s right,” he responded maintaining eye contact.

Mr. Fury, sensing that any further argument would result in nothing, settled for this excuse. “Very well. Make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“I’m not responsible for this brat’s actions,” Logan said with a scowl.

“Hey!” Wade protested.

Neither Logan nor Mr. Fury paid any mind to him, and, with a parting nod, Mr. Fury, with Georges tagging along, parted ways. With his back to him, Peter could see suaveness of his departure. He aimed to be this cool one day.

As soon as the director was out of earshot, Wade spoke up. “I just saved your hide.”

Logan pulled him. “You did nothing.”

Wade, smirk on his face, didn’t take the hint. “You skipped that boring welcome speech, too, didn’t you?”

Logan leaned closer to Wade who could now smell the alcohol on his breath. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Yeah. Okay. Sorry. Friends?” He offered his right hand.

With a grunt, Logan walked down the path Mr. Fury had taken just a minute ago. He tugged Wade along with him.

“Wait. It’s dinnertime. I gotta have my supper,” Peter heard Wade declare.

“I’m tired of thinking up punishments for you, kid,” came the gruffy response. “Today, you’re just not gonna eat.”

“What?! That’s child abuse. Let me go!”

His protests fell on deaf ears and continued until Peter could no longer see them. Wade had been right, though. It was dinnertime. Peter stood from his hiding spot with the intent of joining the rest of the campers. 

“Still here, huh?”

Peter jumped. 

Quill was leaning on the rock that had become Peter’s shield throughout the whole ordeal. “Hungry?”

Unsure of how to answer, Peter settled for the truth. “Um yeah. Kinda.”

He stood upright and motioned with his head. “Let’s go before they notice you missing.”

“Really?”

“Yeah! You think I’d get you in trouble your first day here.”

Peter thought about Wade. “What about him?”

“Hm? Oh, you mean Wade. Yeah. He’s . . . He’s a whole different story. Come on.”

“Oh. Okay.” Peter followed Quill down the path Logan had taken after Mr. Fury. 

“What’s your name, anyway?”

“Peter.”

“Such a great name.”

“I suppose,” Peter replied not bothering to point out that the only reason he was saying that was because he, too, was a Peter. 

“Hey! Are you Tony’s kid?”

Shocked that his dad’s name was uttered in a place like this, Peter took a moment to make sure that he had heard correctly. “Um, yeah. How’d you--”

“Yeah. He told us you were coming. Didn’t think Steve would go along with it, though.”

Now he was sure he had heard correctly. “What? You know my parents? How?”

Luckily for Quill, he didn’t have to answer. “And, this is the cafeteria. Looks like they just got here, too.” Sure enough, a large building, also built from logs, laid before them. Kids were filing in from both sides. It seemed that the cafeteria was built in a way that united both the boys’ and girls’ campsites. It was at the edge of the lake with the front of it overlooking the body of water, but the girls entered through the left entrance and the boys from the right. “Okay, Peter,” Quill said, “Hope you enjoy Camp Ultimate where all your dreams come true.”

Peter wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic, but that wasn’t the thing on his mind at the moment. “But, my parents. How do--”

“I’ll see you, Peter. Eat up.” Avoiding any further discussing, Quill quickly left to his own dinner.

His mind preoccupied with everything that had happened since he stepped on this foreign land, Peter hazily made his way to the “boy” line of the cafeteria.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not an official encounter yet, but it's getting there ;)


	5. Not A Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (interlude)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize, but I'm such a huge Spider-Man fan, and I've been waiting for this movie for a while. I kinda just set everything in my life on the backburner. I watched the movie already (it was awesome!), so Imma continue on with the fanfic. It's just going to take a while to get my head back in the right mindset. Please enjoy this little banter for a while. And, no, I was not paid for this...but if anybody wants to pay me for it I won't reject the money xP

Hey there, everyone. Deadpool here! I know this isn't the chapter you expected, but the author has been in a bit of "Spider-Man Overdose" because of that one movie that just came out, and I have been tasked with the job of telling you that it's going to be a bit longer . . . before . . . the next chapter . . . Hopefully.

Well, now that that's out of the way, I--

_Wade. What are you doing?_

Oh, hi, Spidey! How's it going?

_You can't just show up unannounced and expect--_

I was actually about to promote a certain red-clad superhero film that these beautiful readers should check out.

_Oh! Really?! Well, um, well yeah go ahead. Sorry to interrupt._

Thank you. Anyways, the greatest superhero movie ever is here! Almost. . .Deadpool 2 has begun shooting, and it is set for release next year! 2018!

_WADE!_

Now, we were thinking of a February release because my highly successful film was released in that month, but, apparently, 

_Wade, stop promoting your_

we would be competing with another Marvel film 

_movie_

about a black kitty cat. 

_Stop talking_

So, the month is not definite yet. We might have to push the movie back a few months

_Hello?_

. . . maybe a year . . . 

_Are you ignoring me?_

But! It is definitely coming out 2018 . . . 

_Forget it._

unless it's not. 

Spidey, my love, where are you going?

_I can't deal with you anymore. I'm leaving._

Okay. See you at dinner!

_We're not a couple!_

That's not what the internet sayssssss.

. . .

Okay. He's gone. I didn't want to say this in front of Webhead, but . . . Homecoming is actually a pretty good movie. Not as good as mine, obviously, but I would watch it again. Maybe. Okay, yes it was amazing. The only thing I would change is put myself in it. Too bad we're in different studios. 

What? You're still here? Go watch it. Spider-Man: Homecoming is in theaters now unless you're reading this fanfic when it's not. But, by then it would be out on DVD or BluRay or whatever people in the future use to watch movies. So, what are you waiting for? Watch it! Give my buddy's movie your money. It deserves it. 

Oh, wait. I know how to convince you fanfic readers. Let's just say that the movie is one step closer to your whole SuperFamily fantasy. Also, if you watch it because I told you to, our Spideypool relationship will upgrade from "best friends" to "lovers."

_We're not best friends!_

I thought you had left!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spider-Man: Homecoming! Go watch it! 
> 
> -this message brought to you by Spider-Man's best friend, Deadpool
> 
> _we're not best friends_
> 
> oh, yes we arrrrrre


	6. Welcome All! . . . Despite Everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noticing Wade's absence, Peter sets out to look for answers. Or Wade. Or both! He just has to know what happened to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back! Spider-Man: Homecoming was just so awesome. That was the Peter of my fics. Welp. I'm back. Enjoy.

The gossip about Wade had reached all campers on both sides of the lake by nightfall. And, by breakfast, the rumors escalated. Peter, nor any of the others, had seen Quill after dinner, so imaginations began to race. Whispers of Wade going feral and attacking Quill to the point of hospitalization consumed the food-grubbing kids. Some said Quill had been left horribly disfigured. Others assumed he was in a coma. When asked about the consequence, some kids said Wade had been locked up in the unused eighth cabin with no food or water while others speculated he was being tortured in some hidden room far away so his screams wouldn’t be heard. The colorful talk could have been halted simply by Wade’s presence, but he never showed.

The one that did show was Quill without a single scratch on his face. Most accepted the rumors as simply that . . . rumors, but others fanned the flames by suggesting that Quill was wearing makeup to hide the nonexistent injuries Wade had dealt him. 

Normally, Peter wouldn’t care about such gossip, but Wade’s absence fueled his curiosity. What if something had happened to him? That counselor guy, Logan?, seemed scary. Who knows what he was capable of? Peter considered pressing Quill for some answers, but it was impossible to keep up with the busy counselor.

It was Saturday; their first official day of camp wouldn’t begin until Monday. The counselors were out and about checking and rechecking inventory, attending to the schedule, and discussing with one another details about the day-to-day events.

Today, the campers were being properly introduced to their temporary lodgings. They were given a tour and told the rules. An explanation was even provided to them about what to regularly expect each day. This lasted until lunchtime. After they ate, the children would be free to enjoy the rest of the day to themselves and do as they pleased (as long as they stayed within the confines of the camp and abided by the rules). Tomorrow would be a “meet and greet” as the counselors had put it. They would introduce themselves to the rest of the campers and have some “swim time” in the lake. Peter was already dreading it.

But, now was no time to worry about that. It was the perfect time to seek out some answers himself. If Quill wasn’t of any help, he’d have to satisfy his own curiosity.

Scarfing down his lunch, he disposed of everything properly and strolled out of the cafeteria. He noticed some of the campers dispersing already. Some waltzed back to their cabin for some relaxation time and others, in groups, walked the lake lengthwise and chattered amongst themselves. Seems like some people had already made friends. Peter realized that he hadn’t even bothered speaking to anybody at all yesterday (well, except for the kid that had told him about Wade . . . and Wade himself). In these types of environments, squads were established from the start, and if you weren’t a part of one, you’d be an outcast all summer. _Oh, well,_ he thought, _there’ll be time for that later._

He was at the rock, the one that had temporarily shielded him from the counselor’s gaze. He patted the rock’s dusty exterior. “Hey there, Boulder. Forgot to thank you for yesterday. Haha.” He passed his new ally and examined Cabin #8.

The glass had been cleared off. “Looks like somebody picked up all the shards,” he said to himself. He examined the dirt around Cabin 8. No signs of a struggle or footsteps, as if nothing had transpired yesterday. He wondered if 8’s roof was devoid of evidence as well.

Peter sighed and turned when a glimmer caught his eye. It was near 8’s door. He bent down and picked up a smooth, jagged shard. “Looks like somebody missed a piece.” He smiled and raised the crystal-looking glass up toward the sun. The rays reflected against it, and, in the right angle, Peter saw the formation of a colorful rainbow. 

_SNAP_

Peter pocketed the broken piece of glass and ran behind the cabin. He held his breath and listened, but his thudding heart got in the way. _Quiet! Quiet!_

“Looks like Quill cleaned the crap up. I told that clown to leave it alone. Whatever.”

Peter recognized the voice right away. Then again, it’d be pretty difficult to forget that groggy gruff. 

_It’s him! The one that took Wade again._

Peter could hear the thud of his heavy boots on the dusty ground. They grew closer.

_Oh no! He’s coming here. What do I do? What do I do?_ His back still to the wall, he slid his way across 8’s backside, but his focus had been on the wrong side of the wall, and he nearly bumped into the ladder Logan had placed to drag Wade down. It began to topple. He reached out and steadied it, but not before it scraped against the roof.

“Who’s there?!”

Still holding on to the ladder, Peter made his way around it and to the other side of 8. His plan had been to slide around the cabin’s perimeter until he reached Boulder, but the steps on the other side of the cabin sounded heavier. Fearing getting caught, he forgot all about the reason he had set out on this quest and sprinted away from possible punishment.

 

Peter made it all the way to his cabin without glancing back. Once he was safe at his sanctuary's entrance, he stopped to catch is breath. "I'll just stay here 'til dinner," he planned. He didn’t want to have a repeat of his near-capture. “It had to be Logan. Dude’s scary! Why couldn’t it have been anybody else?” He shoved his hands into his pockets. In his right palm he felt the cool, smooth texture of the glass shard, a reminder of his failed mission.

When he walked into Cabin #7, the other lodgers were already there chattering away. They didn’t turn to look at him, for that he was thankful. He quietly walked to the other end of the room and reached his bunk. He had the top one, so, neatly disposing of his dirty sneakers, he began to disembark toward the ceiling. But, as soon as he placed one socked-foot on the bottom rung

“Hello.”

Still clenching the ladder with both hands, Peter turned to look at who had spoken.

Peter hadn’t really noticed any of them last night. After dinner, they had been gathered around a campfire to eat marshmallows and tell scary stories. The usual campfire-y things. But Peter, exhausted by the day’s events, paid no mind to the ongoings before him. When they were dismissed to their cabins, he headed straight for the ladder, climbed up to his sleeping quarters, and fell asleep. 

Now, as he examined the boy, he noticed he was about the same age as him. Perhaps they were placed in the cabins in accordance to age. If he wanted to find Wade, he’d just have to go to the cabin with boys around that age range. 

“Hey!”

Peter’s head snapped up, and he caught a glimpse of the other boy’s shining, dark eyes. He quickly averted the gaze. “Um, hi.” This kid was a little taller than him with an athletic build. If he wanted to, he could knock Peter out. _Better be polite_.

“Peter, right?”

_Great._ “Um, yeah.” The one thing he hated about being Tony’s son was that he was recognized everywhere. It appeared that a campsite in the middle of nowhere was no exception.

The boy, perhaps sensing Peter’s uncomfortableness, offered a soft smile. “You knocked out yesterday,” he said half-jokingly.

“Yeah,” Peter chuckled. “I was really tired.”

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Luke.”

Finally letting go of the ladder, Peter reached out and grabbed the firm hand. _So strong_ , Peter thought as their hands gripped one another’s. 

Their hands fell back to their sides, and Luke continued the introductions. “My ‘bunk buddy’ over there is Danny.” He pointed behind him to the sleeping quarters next to Peter’s. 

Unlike his bunkmate, this boy had a full head of hair. It was blonde and nearly touched his shoulders. He was sitting on the top bunk, legs crossed and eyes closed. He appeared to be asleep, but that would be quite an uncomfortable position to sleep in.

“He’s meditating,” Luke said as if he had read Peter’s mind. “He likes to do that kind of thing.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“Those two over there,” Luke pointed to the other side of the cabin to the bunks across of his where two other boys were relaxing on the bottom bed, well, if you would call what they were doing relaxing, “that’s Rocket, yeah that’s his actual name, and Groot.”

“Um--” but once again Peter didn’t need to ask his question.

“The tall one’s Groot. Shorty is Rocket.”

“Hey!” the shorter one, who had been tinkering with some mechanical device looked up. “I’m not short! Everybody else is just tall. You freaks!”

Luke didn’t bother looking his way. 

“Are you ignoring me?!” 

For a second, Peter thought Rocket was going to pounce on Luke, but the one called Groot put down the novel he had been reading and reached out to his friend. Peter watched as the two shared a silent look.

“Fine,” Rocket said in his growling voice. “I’ll cool it. Hand me that screwdriver over there.”

Did Peter miss something? The taller one hadn’t spoken, how did--

“He’s nonverbal. Rocket is the only one that truly understands him. Makes their relationship special. Where’s your bunkmate?”

The quick change of topic befuddled Peter. “Huh? Oh!” From what Peter had managed to overhear, seven out of the eight numbered cabins were being used. Each cabin held six boys (there were three bunk beds in each cabin, plus a huge dresser and closet), and everybody was paired up with a “buddy.” One slept on the top bunk and the other on the bottom bunk. Peter was assigned to the top, which meant his buddy slept on the bottom. It occurred to Peter that he didn’t even know who his “buddy” was supposed to be. He was probably the only person in the whole campground that hadn’t met his own “bunk buddy.” “Uh, he didn’t sleep here last night?”

Luke nodded. “We stayed up pretty late and nobody else came in after you. Do you not know who it is?”

Peter shook his head. “Haven’t met him yet. I’ve been kinda lost in thought.”

“Ha! First year, right?” Rocket teased. “Missing your mommy and daddy?”

“I--I have two dads, and, no, I’m not. I’m actually glad to be away from them.”

“Why is that?” 

Peter looked up. Danny, still on the top bunk, glanced down. _Guess meditation time is over._ “I don’t know. They just--They don’t care.”

“Everybody cares. It is the act of--”

“Shut it with your Churchill crap.”

Groot glared at Rocket. 

“Alright alright.” He turned to Peter. “Listen, kid, some advice. Don’t get on Logan’s bad side. Steer clear away from him. He’s nothing but bad news.”

At the mention of the counselor that took Wade away, Peter’s attention turned to Rocket. “Why? What’s so bad about him? What does he do?”

“Easy, easy.” Rocket ran his fingers through his dark, unruly mane. “He’s just tough. Real tough. Just don’t do anything stupid. Or else they’ll send you to him. They always send you to him.”

His voice had began to fade away as if recalling some past event, and his attention had turned back to whatever that contraption he was tinkering with was, so Peter stopped pressing on. He wanted to know, though. And it seemed that Logan was the answer to everything.

He examined the empty spot beside him. It had clean, unslept in sheets. A pillow without any creases. And . . . Peter walked over to it. There was something sticking out of the mattress.

“What the--” He pulled it out. 

“What is it?” Luke asked.

“Secrets always lead to more secrets,” Danny said.

“Porn?” Rocket said, and then, when Groot slapped his shoulder, “What?!”

Peter shook his head. He had rummaged through the pages of the flimsy book. “It’s a comic. A superhero comic.”

Luke stepped forward. “Whoa. He likes superheroes. Cool.”

“Yeah.” Peter said, smile on his face. He turned to the cover which depicted a man clad in black fighting some sort of colorful-looking creature. 

“Can I read, too?” 

“Mmhmm.” Peter held the book out so Luke could see, and they read the single issue together standing next to the empty bed. Luke held onto the pages on the left as Peter wielded the other side. Perhaps this camp thing wouldn’t be so bad. 

Still, Peter’s eyes would occasionally wander from the words before him to the bottom bunk beside him.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - -

Talk about Wade died down, but Peter’s curiosity didn’t. It was Sunday. Two days after the Wade incident and the day before camp officially kicked off. Peter had gotten to know his fellow cabin mates a bit better last night. Luke had attended camp since he was in elementary school. He was already a “student with disciplinary problems” (as the adults put it) way before he stepped foot in this place, but it was an out of school incident that got him sent here. Luke wouldn’t go into details, but he “was lucky to get stuck here. If Danny hadn’t had shown I might have been locked up somewhere else. Get me?”

Peter had nodded intensely. 

Rocket, too, was here on account of disciplinary measures. His had more to do with his sticky fingers. 

“Don’t leave any valuables out here or the vermin will get his nasty little paws on it.”

“Ha! As if you’re any better, cueball.” 

Groot and Danny seemed to be here to look out for their respective partners. Or so Peter thought. They hadn’t revealed much about themselves. Or maybe they had and Peter just didn’t understand them. Danny seemed to speak in riddles, and Groot, well, Groot didn’t do any speaking.

“Ah, this again. Why they gotta do this every single time?”

Peter’s head snapped up at the sound of Rocket’s voice. They were gathered by the lake facing the small dock where the counselors stood upon. The kids were grouped by cabin, which was fine by Peter since he hadn’t had the chance to meet anybody outside his. He looked around at everybody gathered together. Even with all these people Peter didn’t fail to notice that missing from the lineups were Wade and Logan.

Georges stepped up and introduced himself. He stated his name, his hobby (bug collecting), and something he thought others would find interesting (he was French, which wasn’t that interesting to Peter who had visited the country on numerous occasions since he was three and learned the language in third grade.)

He stepped back and another counselor took his place. He introduced himself in that same manner. “Name’s Clint. I like archery. And, I can shoot an apple placed on top of your head from miles away. With my eyes closed.”

The rest followed this pattern until the last one, Quill, finished it off. 

“Quill. Listening to music. And, uh, I know a lot about space. Okay. Now that that’s done. It’s your turn. State your name. Hobby. Something interesting about yourself. We’ll go in order so Cabin Number 1. Go!”

Peter was more interested in looking for Wade than hearing boys talk about how they liked surfing the ‘net or knew how to play an instrument. He kept peering over the heads of some of these kids hoping for some glimpse of Wade or even Logan. Nothing came about, and, with a sigh, he settled to listening to the campers that were left. 

The last boy in Cabin 4, a serious looking kid, was speaking. They seemed much younger than Peter and his cabin mates. 

“My name is Vision. I enjoy calculating probabilities and quantifying arithmetic expressions. My skills include infiltrating technological systems to gain unauthorized access to said systems’ data.”

Nobody spoke. Instead, they stared with unblinking eyes at the small child whose words had baffled even the adults on the campground.

Sighing, Vision reiterated what he had said. “I like math, and I can hack computers.”

“Oh!” Everybody said in unison.

Cabin 5 was next. The boys here seemed a bit older than Peter, around 14 or 15. They also appeared quite tired, as if they had done this many times before. Except for one boy who spoke as if he were trying to break the record for most words spoken in under a minute.

“Name’s Scott, and I like electronics. Anything that runs on electricity or batteries is my thing. Videogames, computers, light switches, you name it! I’m uh well I guess I’m good at fixing stuff. If something breaks I can fix it. Like a mechanic. Actually one time my mom’s dryer broke down, it wouldn’t dry clothes anymore they’d come out all soggy, haha. I had to wear cold clothes to school for a week until I decided to open it up and break it apart. Mom got mad at me when she caught me, I was doing it behind her back, but when I fixed it she was so happy. She was gonna take me out for ice cream but it was the middle of winter so she made me some hot chocolate instead.”

Peter couldn’t help but smile. Scott had been bouncing in place since he started speaking. He was shorter than the other boys in his cabin, which made his bouncing that more humorous. Peter made a mental note to spark up a conversation with Scott. He seemed like a fun guy.

The next cabin, number 6, was made up of even older boys, the oldest of the bunch. Probably on the brink of adulthood. Compared to the rest of them, these boys looked mature and knowledgeable, as if they had faced difficulties the young ones couldn’t even imagine. One of them, with his buzzed, black curls, stood straight. He was quite tall. He took a deep breath and began. Peter heard a draw of breath beside him as if they were preparing to go underwater.

 _Was that Luke?_

“My name is T’Challa. I enjoy wrestling. I once survived five days in the woods by myself with nothing but the torn clothes on my back.”

He spoke in a godlike tone. Peter felt that the mountains would quiver under his voice. It was strong and wise. A voice that he wouldn’t mind hearing on his final seconds on Earth.

A gasp. 

Peter turned. Luke was practically gnawing on his hands. “You okay?”

Luke nodded. “Isn’t he awesome? T’Challa is like the coolest guy ever.”

“Didn’t take you for a fangirl, Luke?”

“Shut up! It’s almost our turn.”

He was right. The last of Cabin 6 had finished. Now it was their turn. Peter went first.

“My name’s Peter. I, uh,” this was harder than he thought, “um, I like building stuff. Tech stuff and sciency things. I’m quite good at it. And, I, uh . . .” If you’ve ever been asked to state something interesting about yourself, then you know how hard it is. A lot of the kids delivered “ums” and took a while to speak up. The same was true for Peter. Hard as he tried, he simply couldn’t think of anything that would stand out. The only thing he kept coming back to was Wade and the conversation he had had with Quill afterward. Maybe it was because of this, or maybe it was because he felt this would have been easier if he was there, but, in the end, he blurted out

“My dad is Tony Stark!”

Murmurs traveled through the group. He could feel their eyes, their attention, directed at him. He looked down at his dusty shoes trying to avoid everyone, but the whispers intruded.

“Tony Stark . . .”

“That’s so cool.”

“Like THE Stark?”

“Great. Another rich kid.”

“You think he lives in a mansion?”

“He doesn’t look rich.”

Luckily, before they were able to gain momentum, the murmurs were interrupted by his new comrade. 

“Name’s Rocket. I like building things. Like . . .” he reached into his back pocket, “this BOMB!” 

Panic swept the crowd. 

“Him again!”

“You think that’s an actual bomb?”

“Last year he almost blew up the counselor’s cabin.”

Peter listened to the new murmurs happy that they were not about him. 

“Settle down. Settle down.” Quill made his way to Rocket. “Give it.”

“No. I built it. It’s mine.” 

“How many times do I have to tell you ‘Don’t Build Bombs’?”

“It’s not written in the rules,” Rocket said putting his “bomb” back in his pocket.

“Of course it’s not written in the rules because it shouldn’t have to BE written in the rules! Give it.” Quill stretched out his hand.

“No.”

“Rocket for the love of--”

A puff of white smoke erupted and filled the air. The only thing Peter could hear was coughing and the occasional gasp. 

“Rocket!”

“It wasn’t supposed to explode! I don’t know what happened. Hey!”

When the smoke cleared, Peter saw that Rocket was no longer with them. Instead, he was up on the dock being gripped by the collar. 

“Okay. Let’s uh let’s continue. Danny, you go.” Quill's grip on Rocket tightened.

Peter focused on Rocket thankful that his stint had distracted everybody else from him. The timing was impeccable. _Thanks, Rocket_ , Peter thought. And then, Rocket smiled, and Peter thought he saw a wink. He wasn’t sure if it was directed at him or not. Did he even wink? Had the whole stunt been on purpose or coincidental? Either way, Peter smiled back.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

“Alright! Camp Ultimate kicks off tomorrow. I want to welcome you all again, despite everything that’s happened here these past three days . . . Well, tomorrow is the first official day, so get a good night’s rest,” Quill said as he dismissed everybody from the campfire. The rest of the day had gone off without a hitch. Even better, nobody was talking about Peter. They did, however, talk about Rocket’s bomb. The gossip that day was what punishment he had received when he failed to show up during “swim time.” But, after he joined them around the campfire, that talk, too, died out along with the flames engulfing the firewood.

Peter walked alongside his cabin mates eager to know what had happened to Rocket. But, while the others asked him if Quill had yelled at him or made him clean the lounge, Peter had another question on his mind.

“Did you see Wade?”

“Who? Oh, you mean that troublesome brat? Nah. He wasn’t there. Why?”

“Just curious.”

The others continued talking without him, and, when they reached their cabin, Peter headed straight to his quarters.

“Going to sleep already?” Luke asked.

“Just tired.”

“Alright then. ‘Night.”

“Good night.”

He was on the second rung when

_SLAM!_

the door swung open. 

The five boys stared at the tall, shadowy figure blocking the entrance (and exit). Slowly, it walked in, his heavy boots thudding on the wooden floor. The unruly hair made him appear taller than he already was, and the white tank accentuated his muscular frame.

“Listen up, bubs,” the gruffy voice came. “If he causes any trouble -- any trouble at all! -- contact me, and I’ll put him in his proper place.”

At first, the boys stared at one another in confusion. Rocket already had his mouth open to ask the question when another figure descended from Logan’s shadow. 

Peter’s eyes widened.

_Wade!_

“Whaddup, my b--”

Logan grabbed a hold of his wrinkled tee. “If this kid so much as thinks about breaking one rule you call me. Got it!”

The five boys shook their heads in understandment, more out of fear than actual agreement.

“Haha. Good ol’ Logan. Love ya, man.” Wade patted Logan’s hand and uncurled it from his shirt. “Alright. I’m just gonna head on up to bed. We good?” Upon sensing no future response, he continued, “Look, Logan, man, unless you want to watch me in my sleep I suggest--”

“You suggest nothing!” Then, to the other five, “Remember what I said. Anything at all.” With one last glance at Wade, he disappeared out the cabin and slammed the door behind him.

“I thought he’d never leave,” Wade muttered. He turned in the direction of his bunk and locked eyes with Peter who was still frozen on the ladder. “Hey! I remember you. You were spying on me that one day.”

“I-I wasn’t spying! I was just--”

“And now you’re my partner?”

“Buddy, actually,” Peter corrected. He could feel the sweat drip down his back.

Eyes still on him, Wade made his way to the bunks. He examined Peter and brought his gaze down to the bottom bunk and up to the top one. Then back to Peter. “You top?”

Peter nodded.

He let out a sigh. “Guess I’m bottoming this time.”

The other kids snickered.

Wade continued. “You like being top?”

“Huh?” Peter jumped off the ladder. His fingers were becoming numb. “Well, it’s okay. I guess.” The snickers turned into fits of giggles. Peter, face flushed, finally realized the implication. “No! I mean, y--yes, bedwise. No, wait! That’s not--I mean, I was just--” 

Wade put a hand on Peter’s shoulder to stop his exasperated stammers. “Just kidding with you, bud. Name’s Wade.” He offered the other hand to the new kid.

Placing his hand in Wade’s outstretched one, he reciprocated the introduction. “Name’s Peter.”

“Peter. Cool. Do you like superheroes?”

“Love ‘em. I actually read your comic. Sorry. Curiosity got the best of me.”

“Luke read it, too,” Danny’s voice came from above. He was already in his bunk.

“Rand!” came Luke’s voice followed by a thudding sound as his pillow made contact with Danny’s face.

Paying no mind to the laughter emanating from the others, Wade, finally letting go of Peter’s hand, said, “No biggie. I have more. Wanna read?”

“Yes! I mean, if it’s okay with you, that is.”

Wade flashed him a huge smile that Peter couldn’t help but return.

Yeah. Maybe this camp thing wouldn’t be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyy I got Wade in now. Get ready for Peter and Wade interactions. Finally!


	7. First!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camp officially kicks off! But, an overheard conversation leaves Peter preoccupied the whole day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that the tags keep changing and that's cuz Imma keep updating them as I get further into the story. I have just a very undetailed outline of the way my fic is gonna progress, so there are gonna be a lot of stuff I'll suddenly add in. Hopefully that's okay with you guys. Sorry, but my mind is very "hyperactive." I'll start at one point and end up at a whole different place haha

He was awoken by . . . _something_ , but as soon as his eyes fluttered open he had forgotten what had disturbed his sleep. He glanced at his watch. 

_7:00_

He laid there, waiting. Hearing nothing except the buzzing of the air conditioning system and slight creaks from the beds below him, he turned on his side, toward the wall, and brought the covers back up over his face. His breathing softened and his eyes began to close . . .

_THUD THUD THUD_

Peter abruptly sat up, his short stature preventing him from banging his head on the ceiling above him. “Huh?” Discarding of his warm, snug blanket, he rubbed his eyes removing the last traces of sleep. The thudding was replaced by the small creaks of mattresses as the others began to transition from their dream-filled state.

Next to him, on the other top bunk, he heard a groggy voice. “Wha . . .” Danny, with hair that reminded Peter of Medusa, struggled to get his body to obey him. From Peter’s view, it looked like the blanket was trying to consume Danny. He watched as the skilled boy showcased his martial art skills on the powerful wool fabric. The fight was close, but it seemed that the blanket had the upper edge as Danny struggled to get it off of his body. He kicked at it and threw punches to no avail. The mattress creaked with every attack he threw. With a final chop, he managed to remove the blanket from ontop him and sat facing Peter. He flicked his blonde curls back revealing his sleepy, blue eyes. He sat quietly for a second, fistfuls of blanket in each hand. Then he glanced up. Upon noticing Peter, he flashed him a friendly smile. Peter tiredly returned it.

Another _THUD! THUD!_

“Get up, kiddos! First day of camp kicks off in a bit. Get your butts out here!”

“Do you have to be so loud?!” Peter heard Rocket wail.

There was a faraway pounding followed by Quill’s overly-ecstatic voice. His voice faded as he made his second round to the cabins ensuring the boys wouldn’t fall back asleep. 

_I hate morning people_

Eyes still half-closed, Peter felt his way to the top of the ladder. He adjusted his body and slumped down the steps. At the second rung, he hopped off landing with a soft _thump_ on the hardwood floor. Feet firmly planted, he stretched his body and let out an exaggerated yawn. 

“Morning,” Luke muttered. He was sitting on the edge of his bunk stretching his limbs.

“Good morning, Luke. Hey, Danny.” Peter waved up at Danny who was halfway down his ladder.

“The sun has risen on another day, my fair friend.” Danny jumped down landing next to Luke. They greeted each other with a smile.

“Ack! You talk like that in the morning, too?” Rocket buried his head under his pillow, but Groot, starting down the ladder (he was a tall fellow and Peter felt he used the ladder only because it was there), ripped the blanket from his tiny body. “Hey!”

Groot motioned out the door, and Rocket, with a grunt, got up. “Who wakes up this early? I’ll tell you who. Crazy people!” Rocket, Groot right behind, made his way to his assigned drawer and began flinging clothes. 

“Dude!” One of Rocket’s underpants had landed on Luke’s, who was in the process of putting on pants, head. 

Rocket snickered. “My bad. They do suit you.”

Luke tossed the orange undergarment back to Rocket who caught it with his left hand.

The morning had begun. Well, almost.

A quiet snore came from beside Peter. He turned his attention to it and saw Wade, sprawled face-up on the bed, blanket wrapped around his right ankle. His red shirt had slumped up to his chest exposing his stomach, and one of his pajama pants leg had curled up to his thigh. There was drool on the corner of his mouth, but some appeared to have already escaped onto his pillow.

 _How is he still sleeping?!_ Peter turned to the others for help. “Um . . .” 

“Just poke him or something,” Luke advised holding up a gray t-shirt.

“Have you tried calling out to him?” Danny asked.

Peter nodded. “Should I? I mean, if he didn’t hear Quill’s loud knocking I don’t think me calling him would do any good.” He took a step closer to the sleeping boy. _Maybe he’s faking_. As if in response, Wade snored louder. Peter stepped back.

“Do you want me to do it?” Rocket offered. He and groot had already gotten dressed and, toothbrushes in tow, were making their way out.

“Uh, n-no. It’s fine. I’ll do it.” Peter hesitated. Then, he slowly reached out, palm outstretched. He didn’t know what he was planning to do. Maybe just a nudge or a shove. Maybe even a soft slap. But he didn’t have a chance to think about it for Wade’s eyes opened.

Peter froze. 

Wade, registering a figure in front of him, let out a scream and jolted up forgetting where he had been sleeping and slammed his forehead on the wooden structure above him.

“Ouch ouch ouch!” He rubbed at the already pink spot on his head. “Dude, what the f--”

“Sorry sorry sorry!” Peter had jumped back after Wade’s scream and was now holding out his hand in a defensive posture. “I didn’t mean--I wasn’t trying to--”

Wade looked past Peter. The others were in fits of laughter. Even Groot, who held the door open, had paused to witness the commotion. His amused smile was nothing compared to Rocket’s hysterics. 

“Oh! My sides! I can’t breathe. I’m gonna--” His laughter took over, and he had to lean against Groot to keep from falling over.

Wade glared at him. “Hmph. You guys suck,” he muttered as he got out of bed still rubbing his forehead. He walked toward Peter.

“I’m really really sorry. I didn’t--”

“Ha! It was pretty funny.” Wade flashed him a toothy grin. “Just wish I wasn’t at the butt of it.”

Peter rubbed the back of his sweaty neck. “Hehe. Sorry.”

He slammed Peter on the back. “You apologize too much. Come on. Let’s get dressed before Quill comes back and makes us change outside.”

“He’ll do that?”

Wade shrugged. “I don’t know. But, I won’t take chances. Hurry it up, Pete.”

Peter walked over to his drawer and took out some fresh clothes. Luke had already replaced his white tank with the clean, gray tee he had been examining, and Danny was donning some jeans and a green shirt. Peter gripped his own clothes (shorts and a blue tee).

“You alright there, Pete?”

Peter looked away from Wade, who was stripped down to his underwear. “Huh? Oh, um nothing.”

Wade considered him. Then, “If you’re nervous about changing in front of us we could always leave.”

Peter nodded, not bothering to point out to Wade that he’d been dressing and undressing with the others the past three days. “No, it’s not that. Just kinda worried about today, that’s all.”

“Psh. That’s it?” Wade pulled his head through a black muscle-shirt. “The hardest thing you’ll do here is trying to understand Jerry’s accent.”

“You mean Georges?”

“Same diff.” He struggled to balance as he put one leg through his jeans. “Now hurry it up before everybody crowds the toilets. I’ll wait for you over there.”

“Sure.”

Wade grabbed his toothbrush and walked out leaving Danny and Peter in the cabin. Peter hadn’t even noticed the others had left. 

“Luke left without you?” he said as he pulled the blue t-shirt over his head and reached for his shorts.

“He always does,” Danny replied as he fluffed Luke’s pillow. “I stay back and tend to the beds. A proper sleeping quarters leads to a proper sleep.”

Peter looked up at his untidy bed. “Hm. Yeah I guess you’re right.” He pulled his shorts up and made his way up the ladder to fix his bedsheets. He tucked the blanket under his pillow and smoothed out the creases. 

“Peter?” Danny called from below. 

“Coming.” He went down and noticed Wade’s own mess of a bed. _Really?_ Annoyed, he looked away, grabbed his toothbrush from the dresser, and followed Danny out the door. 

“Everybody’s already in line.” Danny lead the way to the restrooms. “I hope they saved us a spot.”

They reached the end of the line and proceeded to look for the rest of their group. They walked up the line until a familiar voice beckoned them over. 

“Yo! Pete! Oops. Sorry.” Wade had been waving his arms rapidly and hit one of the kids from Cabin 3. He was apologizing when Peter and Danny joined the rest of Cabin 7. “Took you guys long enough,” Wade said with a grin.

“We actually clean up our messes,” Danny said turning away from him.

“What’s the point of making your bed if you’re just gonna mess it all up again in a few hours?”

Peter remembered using that line on his parents when he was younger. Steve had provided some explanation about how making your bed not only instills discipline but provides a healthier atmosphere. Or something like that. Steve had rambled on a lot, but Tony’s eyes had simply widened. When they had closed the door to Peter’s room, he had heard Tony whisper “Why _do_ we make our beds every morning?”

The line moved quickly. Peter took the sink next to Wade and proceeded to turn on the cold water. He ran his hands under the cool stream and brought it up to his face. It felt so clean.

“Aw, cheesecake! Pete can I borrow some toothpaste?”

“Hm?” Peter looked down to the edge of the sink. “Toothpas--oh shh--” He kept staring at the empty place where he would have placed that white and blue tube if he hadn’t left it in his designated drawer. “Uh . . . Imma have to go back for it. Could you hold my--”

Wade caught the cylindrical object before it hit Peter’s face. “Thanks, Goldilocks.”

Not glancing at them, Danny said, “Give some to Peter.”

Wade poured a generous amount of the minty paste on his black toothbrush before tossing it to Peter. “Here you go, Petes.”

“Um, thanks. Thanks, Danny.” Peter handed the squished tube back to its owner.

“You’re too nice for your own good,” Luke said as he took Danny’s place in front of the sink.

“Peace comes to those who practice it.” Danny pocketed the toothpaste and left the washing area. 

“My mouth doesn’t smell like crap anymore,” Wade announced. He grabbed his toothbrush and pushed past the people still waiting to have a go at the sink. Peter followed.

They joined Rocket and Groot who were standing under a shady tree. They waited for the other two to arrive. It didn’t take long.

“Alright let’s go,” Luke said before he reached the tree. 

They began their short trek to the cabin before they would have to regroup at the lineup where the counselors would tell them what to do. From what Peter had gathered, he’d be with his cabin mates the whole time. Which was good. 

They were barely out of the tree’s shadow when a familiar sensation took over Peter. _Oh, crap._ The feeling was unmistakable. How could Peter had allowed this to happen? “Um, guys?” They all turned. “Um, I, I--I gotta go do something. I mean, I--I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit. I just--”

“Forgot to take a piss?” Luke said.

Peter turned red. Slowly, he nodded.

Wade laughed. “Dude. Seriously?”

“Yeah. Just . . . go on without me.” Peter, feeling the heat rise into his cheeks, dashed back inside the nearly empty building while the others headed back to the cabin.

He walked to the middle of the layout, past the sink area but not yet to the shower section. Luckily, the other boys had dispersed. There were only two kids (both from Cabin 4) at the sink, but by the time Peter reached the toilets they had began to leave. He chose one of the five urinals and let relief sweep over him. 

“I can’t believe I forgot to pee.” The building was oddly silent, and his echoing voice didn’t help settle his uneasiness. He tried to speed up his bodily function and get out of here as fast as humanly possible.

Once the last drop hit, he tucked everything back in and headed back to the sinks to cleanse his hands, but a voice froze him in his path. After hearing the two boys leave, he had thought he was the only one here; apparently he had missed the two pairs of footsteps. Quickly, he slid into one of the toilet stalls and listened.

“You really think it’ll be that much trouble?” Peter recognized the voice as belonging to one of the counselors, but he couldn’t recall his name.

“Kids like him tend to act up when things get worse.” This voice he did recognize. It was a voice he’d never forget. Hearing it now in this nearly empty place drove a chill down his spine. 

_Logan_. He covered his mouth with both hands as if to stop his thoughts from escaping past his lips.

“So, it’s true then? The rumors.”

Logan sighed. “Yeah.” 

The two men finished washing their hands and dried them on those brown, paper towels kids tend to use too much of. Their steps faded.

“Wonder how much longer we’ll keep seeing him here.”

“Who knows?” Logan grunted.

They were no longer within earshot, but Peter managed to hear two more words before they completely disappeared. Two words that he wished wouldn’t have reached his ears. 

In a low voice, the other counselor had whispered, “Poor Wade.”

 

Peter ran to his lineup. By the time he had gotten to the cabin to drop off his things, the others had already left. 

_I’m late I’m late I’m late_

He sprinted past all the cabins to the place they had first gathered at not three days ago. Everybody else was already there. Funny how the same group of people can seem much larger when you don’t know where to go. It felt as if every pair of eyes was on him and every murmur was directed at him. He looked around and glimpsed an arm waving him over. It towered over the rest of the kids. He immediately knew who it belonged to and pushed his way over to it uttering a few apologizes to those he bumped into. 

“Am I late?” Peter asked as he settled into his line.

“Right on time,” Danny replied.

“Awesome.” Peter offered Groot a thankful smile. He smiled back. They didn’t need words.

“Yo! Bunk Pal! Thought you were a goner. I was already looking for a replacement.”

Peter didn’t reply. Why the bathroom conversation hung heavy on his mind bothered him. He and Wade had barely met last night. Why did he care so much about what those two words meant? 

_Poor Wade_

He turned to Wade and opened his mouth.

“We will start with a roll call!” Georges’ voice radiated through the crowd and interrupted whatever was going to come out of Peter’s mouth. He was using a megaphone this time and some of the boys had covered their ears. “I will--” The megaphone let out a horrendous shriek. Georges turned his head away from it letting the feedback die down before he brought it back up to his lips. “I--” The shrill pierced their ears. Many of the victims groaned in pain and pressed their palms as hard as they could on their ears. Georges handed the megaphone to Quill who promptly disposed of it by throwing it over his shoulder.

“Uh, thanks . . . Quill,” Georges uttered sarcastically.

“No problem.” The sarcasm seemed to have been lost on Quill.

Clipboard on hand, Georges started by Cabin 1’s line. He called them one by one and added a check beside their names on the roster sheet. When he was finished, he swiftly stepped in front of Cabin 2’s lineup. Then Cabin 3’s. Cabin 4’s. 5’s. 6. 7.

“Mr. Wilson,” he said when he had placed the last check on the roster (all had been present and accounted for!), “I hope we will have your full cooperation this summer.”

“Well, I can’t guarantee anything, Gary. But I sure as heck will try.” He winked at Georges who scowled in return. 

He turned away from the boys and stood in front of the other counselors. “Now! Our day is as follows: First, Cabin 1, you will begin your morning at Fauna and Flora with Ben. Then transfer over to Arts and Crafts with Clint before lunch. Finally, you will finish up with one of Quill’s ‘nature walks.’ Cabin 2. You will--” He continued reading off every cabin’s schedule while Peter’s mind raced. 

_Should I say something? What? Why do I even care about this? It’s probably nothing anyways. Even if it is something iT’S NOT MY PROBLEM_

As much as he tried to convince himself, his eyes wandered over to Wade. He’d intently examine his posture, his appearance, his expressions. 

Their eyes met. Wade sent him a mischievous wink to which Peter replied by turning bright red. He looked down at the dirt. His cheeks were burning. 

“Cabin 7!” 

Peter raised his head and stiffened.

“You will start off your morning with Clint at Arts and Crafts. Then, Writing with Reed. And, end it with Engineering which will be taught by Victor. Anyone need anything repeated?”

A few of the younger kids raised their hands to have Georges promptly redeliver their Monday schedule. Peter looked at the counselors chattering with one another and texting on their phones. He knew Clint was the one in the sleeveless purple tee and black sunglasses, but Reed and Victor he couldn’t recall. Also, Logan was there. Peter hadn’t noticed him before. Was he always there? Or did he just make an appearance?

“Now,” Georges explained, “every Monday you will have the same three stations. Tuesdays you will have another three. And so forth. There are seven stations in all and you will do each twice every week. Monday through Friday. Each day you will have three to do, with the exception of Fridays (you will have two those days). Stations will begin at 8:30. Every morning at promptly 7:45, you are to report to the cafeteria for breakfast, but seeming that this is your first day, we will head to the cafeteria right now and attend to our affairs a little later. Lunch will be served after Station 2. Whoever your counselor is at that time will guide you to the cafeteria.” He reiterated the rules of the cafeteria and the behavior they expected from each and every one of them. Still, it seemed that most of those “rules’ were directed at Wade. 

Wade yawned. “Bleh. He really talks a lot, don’t he? I’m hungry.” Peter nodded in agreement. He, too, was hungry.

“After station 3,” Georges finished up, “you will have some free time in your cabins before dinner. Take this time to shower or nap. Fridays will be our Swim Time and our Campfire Nights will be on the weekend as well. As you may have noticed, neither Logan nor I are scheduled to any camp activity, and that is because we will be overseeing the day-to-day operations. Now, shall we proceed?”

The muttering picked up once again as they made a beeline to the cafeteria with the counselors in the lead. 

“Eck!”

Peter turned to Wade. “Something wrong?”

“We got Dick Reed for writing. He’s a real . . . dick.”

“Why?”

“Too strict,” Luke said.

“Total perfectionist,” Danny added.

“Doesn’t appreciate true genius!” growled Rocket.

Groot crossed his arms and nodded in agreement.

“Oh.” They walked in silence. They were nearing the cafeteria. The others had gotten a few steps ahead of Wade and Peter, so he decided to seize this opportunity. “Say, Wade . . .”

“Hm?”

“Um, when I was in the restroom I overheard . . . something.”

Wade stepped in front of Peter blocking his way. His eyes opened wide. “Oh, yeah? Something juicy, I hope.”

“Well, I, uh, it was . . . It’s probably nothing, but I, um, I just wanted to make sure if um--”

“Wade! Move it!” 

“Yes! Star-Lord, sir!” Wade skipped forward abandoning their conversation. Peter chased after him thankful for the extra time to get his words organized but also disappointed that he hadn’t been able to get this resolved. He didn’t want to ask him when other people would be within earshot. It’d be better to get him alone somehow. Yes. He’d wait during their free time to get him alone. The only problem was that now he was going to be thinking about it all day

They grabbed their trays of scrambled eggs, sausages, bacon, and their choice of orange juice or milk and sat across Luke and Danny. Wade was somehow able to chew and talk simultaneously. If Peter did that, not only would his fathers had reprimanded him, but he’d probably choke as well.

They talked about the counselors and what they were looking forward to the most and least. Well, they did; Peter didn’t. He sat in silence barely tasting his food as it went down his throat.

“You alright?” Luke asked.

For the first time since they had sat down, Peter looked up from his meal. “No, uh, yeah--yeah. I am. Just sleepy.”

“Better get used to it. It’s like this every morning. Except weekends.”

“Yeah, why is it like that? Feels like we’re in prison or something that’s not a camp.”

“You keep forgetting that a lot of troublemakers end up here. If you were expecting some sort of summer resort full of spa treatments and stuff then you came the wrong place. Do you really think guys like him,” Luke pointed at Wade, “would get sent here if it were like that?”

“Heyyy!” Wade had caught that last bit of their conversation. “I’m not _that_ bad. I’m a good kid.”

“Sure you are. I guess even Satan would call his child good every once in a while.”

“Did you just call me the Prince of Hell? ‘Cause if so then that’s pretty da--”

“So . . .” The six boys looked up and peered into the dark sunglasses staring down at them, “you boys with me.”

It didn’t sound like a question, but Peter absentmindedly nodded, as did the others. The sunglasses’ black abyss was hypnotizing. 

“Let’s go,” Clint ordered, and they did as told. They were lead to an area behind the cafeteria that consisted of six tables, three in each row, under a shady canopy. All except for one of the tables were completely empty. Clint stood in front of one of the empty ones reclining against its surface. The boys scooted over to the table across that one and faced Clint, waiting for the adult to say something. Three minutes passed without anybody uttering a word, and their comfortableness decreased with each passing second.

Finally, he said, “We’re doing arts and crafts here. What does that mean? I have no clue. But,” he stood up straight, “I will be teaching you how to do useful things, not that stupid macaroni and art crap. You see this bow?” Clint reached back and pulled out a long arrow. “Made it myself. You, too, will learn how to do something like this beauty.”

Peter gazed in amazement. _Awesome_. He had always wanted to take up archery, but Steve had complained about it being too much for his small figure. Tony had taken him to an aiming facility behind Steve’s back, though they used paintball guns rather than arrows. Still, it was an experience Peter had thoroughly enjoyed.

“Alright. Uh,” Clint glanced around. “Eventually we will get to building weapons--erm tools like that, but for now let’s start with something simple.” He walked over to the table with boxes and began to pull out supplies. Peter saw paper and glue and blocks of wood among other stuff. “Let’s start by making a simple walking staff.”

It wasn’t as simple as Clint had said. Rocket had grown infuriated with his that he snapped his twig of a staff in two. Peter couldn’t get the dimensions right and ended up with something suited for a toddler (it didn't help that his mind kept drifting to the conversation he had overheard). And, Wade had made something that looked more like a sword than a staff.

Writing with Reed didn’t fare better. 

They had been given composition books in which they would keep records of their time and experiences in Camp Ultimate. So, a journal of sorts. In addition, they would also take this time to write letters (since they weren’t allowed any electronic devices) to their friends and/or family. Reed also stated that he’d teach them “helpful writing techniques,” such as taking notes in a scientific manner. Today, however, they wrote their first journal entry and began a letter to the people from the outside world. 

_Dear Parents,_

_I actually made some friends here. Today is our first day, so we haven’t done much. What have you guys been up to? Bet you’re having tons of fun without me, huh. Haha. Jk. I miss you guys._

Peter opted out of talking about Wade. He knew that his fathers may have been able to provide some advice, but he also figured Tony would fly here and whisk him away if they found out what type of person his “buddy” was. Then again, didn’t he _want_ to leave this camp? Didn’t he want out?

During lunch (the main course was hotdogs), Peter attempted to talk to Wade, but he was bombarded by the boys in Cabin 5. Peter watched as Wade went with them and spent the rest of his lunch watching Rocket tinker with something he’d prefer not to ask about in case it wound up exploding.

In engineering, Victor explained that they’d learn how to construct necessary things such as a proper campfire and habitable shelters while brushing up on their math skills. It seemed like Peter’s type of class. Even the room, which was pretty small but filled to the brim with all sorts of tools and materials, felt cozy. It reminded him of his dad’s lab. Maybe he’d be able to create something that’d surprise even Dad. 

They didn’t do much at this station for Victor spent the time going over safety procedures and explaining their curriculum. Peter caught himself glancing at Wade every now and then, but he managed to hear most of Victor's lecture. He advised them against wearing flip-flops or sandals in here and to always wear safety goggles when working with electrical or flammable tools. He finished talking ten minutes before their rest period was scheduled.

“If nobody has any questions, then you are all free to go.”

Nobody had any questions.

Peter made a quick stop at the restroom before heading off to the cabin. _No mysterious conversations. Good._ He finished washing his hands and rushed off before something else ended up happening. It seemed his habit of ending up in troublesome situations had followed him here in the middle of nowhere.

The others were already on their bunks relaxing when Peter stepped inside. Groot was giving Rocket a massage, and Luke appeared to be fast asleep. Danny was, unsurprisingly, meditating on the top bunk. 

Peter walked over to Wade’s bunk determined to speak to him. He was lying face down, hands under the pillow.

“Hey, Wade.”

Nothing.

“Wade?”

After ten seconds of silence, he nudged him. 

He sat but, perhaps remembering his morning incident, stopped himself from jolting up. “Oh, hey, Pete. What’s up?” He scooted over on the mattress leaving a space for Peter.

Peter kept standing. “Listen, I gotta ask you something. I--Is that an iPod?!”

Peeking out of the pillow was a black rectangular device with a wire leading up to Wade’s ears.

“Hm? Oh yeah. Haha.” Wade brought the device to full view and showed it to Peter. “Snuck it in.”

“How?!” The more he talked to Wade the more intriguing Peter found him to be.

Wade shrugged as if sneaking in an iPod to a place where your baggage gets checked wasn’t a big deal to a twelve-year-old. He took out the earbud from his left ear and handed it to Peter. “Wanna listen?”

“Um yeah but first I gotta--I heard something--in the restrooms.”

“Oh yeah. You were trying to tell me this morning.”

“Yeah, well, um, you see--” Peter took a deep breath. “I heard Logan and--and some other guy. They were talking about you.”

Wade stiffened. “Oh. What they say?”

“They said that--that the rumors were true. And that th--they probably weren’t going to see you around for much longer.”

“That it?”

Seeing that Wade thought nothing of it, Peter relaxed a little. “When the other guy left he said ‘Poor, Wade.’ That’s the last I heard of their conversation. I just--I don’t know, man. I was just kinda worried that something was up with--with you.”

Wade smile. “Aw. That’s cute. You were worried about me.” He made a heart shape with his hands.

“Seriously. Are you okay?”

“Sorta. I have . . . family problems. Mostly money stuff. You see, my parents recently got a divorce so . . . yeah . . . Guess they were talking about that.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” 

“Haha. Don’t worry about it. If I were my dad I would’ve left, too. The sad thing is that he didn’t take me with him.” Wade looked up at Peter. He gave him a playful shove. “Don’t worry about it, dude. It happened last year. It’s all good.”

Peter said nothing.

“Come on, dude! You’re darkening the mood. I like to keep things chill. Here,” he offered him the earbud again, “have a listen.”

Peter hesitated. “You sure it’s no big deal?”

“Nah. If I get in enough trouble the freaking town will pay for me to come here!” Wade laughed. “Money ain’t a problem.” He shook the earbud at Peter.

Peter took it. It wasn't money that he was necessarily worried about. But, Wade had a point. Might as well keep things chill.

Wade patted the empty spot next to him and Peter sat.

“Hope you like this type of music.”

Peter listened. He recognized the song at once. "I love Linkin Park!"

Wade gave him a huge smile. "I knew I liked you, kid."

Peter chuckled and reclined on the bed. He let the melody invade him and the lyrics consume him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rest in Peace, Chester. Your lyrics had (have) such a huge impact on my life. It hurts so much to have lost you.


End file.
